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3YV 




Delightful Entertainments 



WITH 

Programmes for Amusements 

CONTAINING 

PARLOR GAMES; CHARMING TABLEAUX; TRICKS OF MAGIC; CHARADES 
AND CONUNDRUMS; CURIOUS PUZZLES; PHRENOLOGY AND j 

MIND READING; PALMISTRY, OR HOW TO READ THE 
HAND ; HUMOROUS AND PATHETIC RECITATIONS, 

DIALOGUES, Etc., Etc. 4 

INCLUDING 

ETIQUETTE AND THE ART OF ENTERTAINING 

THE WHOLE FORMING A 

CHARMING TREASURY OF PASTIMES FOR THE HOME, PUBLIC SCHOOLS 

AND ACADEMIES, LODGES, SOCIAL GATHERINGS, ^^^^^ 

SUNDAY SCHOOLS, Etc., Etc 



By Henry Davenport Northrop 

Author of "Gem Cyclopedia," "Excelsior Writer and Speaker," "Young People's History of Ameiica," Etc. 



Superbly Embellished with Phototype and Wood Engravings 



NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO. 

239, 241, 243 South American St. 
Philadelphia 









THE MtRAWV OF 

OGMGRESS. 
Two CoriEfl Keobivc* 

DEC. 20 1901 

CoP^-tJIOMT ENTRY 

/ CLASa CO X.XC. NO. 

COPY a. 



ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OK CONGRcSS, IN THE YEAR I'JOl, BY 

HORACE C. FRY 

THE OFFICE OF r rtl; IIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, AT WASHINGTON, D. C, U. 3. A 



^ 



I 



PREFACE 




MONG the various phenomena of the closmg century, few are 
more remarkable than the vastly increased amount of time and 
attention which is now given to Recreation. Men work as hard 
as, possibly harder than, their fathers, but they certainly find ' 
much more time for play. To a considerable extent it is true 
that the men have become boys again. Health and Amusement 
go hand in hand, and each is a strong friend of the other. 
This very attractive work combines pastime and pleasure with valuable in- 
struction. It teaches practical lessons while it amuses the reader. It is sure to prove 
a. welcome guest in every home where it is admitted, as it is essentially intended as a 
book to amuse, to pass quickly away the long nights, to add to the festivity of 
evening parties, and to be a pleasurable companion on all social gatherings ; for it is to 
" 2 hoped we are none of us so old or so crusty but that we can still appreciate 

"Sport that wrinkled care derides, 
And laughter, holding both his sides." 

As every juvenile merrymaker might tire of games in which smartness of reply 
was the leading feature, games wherein mirth of a more active kind is the characteristic, 
have been introduced for their especial benefit. In the part comprising Parlor Games 
there is such kn extensive variety that both old and young will not be at a loss to find 
captivating amusements for social gatherings. 

New features appear in this work which are found in no other of a similar 
character. One part includes Palmistry, or how to Read the Hand. A person who 
understands this 'art can afford great amusement by telling, or assuming to tell, the 
character, disposition, occupation, etc., from the lines of the hand. 

In both Parlor Magic and Chemical Surprises, not only is there a fine opportunity 
to amuse, but also to teach some of the fundamental truths of science These depart- 
ments will be found extremely fascinating to young persons who undertake the experi- 
ments here described. • Many an eminent man of science has begun his career with, the 
chemical recreations of boyhood. Indeed, one part of this grand volume is entitled 

iii 



lY 



PREFACfi. 



Instructive Recreations, as it comprises interesting and amusing experiments that teach 
the most important principles of science and philosophy. There is no reason why we 
should not learn while we laugh. 

Here, then, will be found instructions for playing Round or Parlor Games of vast 
variety, Mechanical and Arithmetical Puzzles of wonderful ingenuity, social diversions 
of divers sorts. Parlor Magic, and that never-failing source of merriment and perplexity 
comprehensively known as Fireside Fun. In the section on Parlor Magic no trick has 
been described involving the use of apparatus in any degree elaborate. The same is 
true of the section comprising Instructive Recreations. 

It is easy to combine instruction with pleasure in both Hypnotism and Phrenology 
Special attention is paid to these subjects. They are always interesting. They exc* 
the curiosity of everybody. They are among the things that are half shadowec'/t 
mystery. To perform hypnotism, either the real thing or its counterfeit, is one of t' 
most laughable of all recreations. It only requires a person with a glib tongue a 
level head to make it a source of endless merriment. 

The same may be said of Phrenology. In this volume the names of all the orgi 
of the brain are given, together with their location and meaning. Those who 5 
interested in the study of this science will here find valuable help. 

In addition to all these captivating sources of amusement, a large part of this m(' 
attractive volume is taken up with intellectual sources of recreation, such as Dramat 
Descriptive and Humorous Recitations; fun-making Charades, Rebuses, Dialogue' 
Conundrums and Choice Selections from the World's Best Authors. These are of tT : 
.^g-^e^test value for any parlor, public school, Sunday school or other entertainment 1' i 
whictti the boys and girls, in fact all young people, are expected to appear. 

Considering the unanimity that now exists among parents and guardians as to the 
desinbility of encouraging a reasonable pursuit of games and sports, it is singular to 
observe the comparative scarcity of books which young people might consult for infor- 
mation upon the different topics connected with the vast variety of pastimes in which 
they commonly indulge. It is to meet the want of a comprehensive guide to sports 
and pastimes that this work has been prepared. 

It is hoped that the present volume will supply the ever-increasing demand for a 
book of innocent amusement for winter evenings, both at home and at school. The 
chief object aimed at has not been the production of tragic and blood curdling plays, 
and sports, but the inculcation and enforcement of some good moral principle, attired 
in attractive and, perchance, humorous and fantastic garb. Amusement and instruc- 
tion go hand-in-hand. 




CONTENTS. 



PARLOR QAME^ FOR SOCIAL AMUSEMENTS. 



PAGE. 

Mirth and Merriment ....... 17 

The Comic Concert 18 

Consequences 18 

The Adventiirers 19 

^op's Mission 19 

The Wolf and the Hind 20 

French Blind Man 21 

The Ribbons 21 

The Cotton Flies 21 

The Huntsman 21 

Copenhagen i 22 

The Cat and the Mouse 22 

Hunt the Hare 22 

The Key Game 22 

Hunt the Slipper 23 

[ack's Alive 23 

The Butterfly 24 

How Do You lyike It 25 

Game of the Ring 25 

The Elements 26 

Twirl the Trencher . 26 



The Alphabet 

The Deaf Man 

Cross Purposes 

Dutch Concert 

Philharmonic Concert 

Poker and Tongs : or Hot Boiled 

Beans 

The Acrostic Sale 

Flora's Bouquet 

Sorcerer Behind the Screen . • . . 

The Bouquet 

Knight of the Whistle ...... 

The Fool's Discourse 

Compliments 

The Three Kingdoms 

The Narrative 

The Traveler's Tour 

Rhyming Game 

Proverbs 

Uttle Fortune Teller 

Geographical Play 



FAGS. 

27i 

27) 
289 
280 
28 

2£ 
29 
30 
31 
31 
32 
32 
33 
33 
35 
36 
39 
40 
40 
43 



AMUSING FORFEITS. 



PAGB. 

Knight of the Rueful Countenance . 44 

Journey to Rome 44 

taughing Gamut 44 

The Medley 44 

Hobson's Choice 45 

Poetic Numbers 45 

Hush-a-Bye, Baby 45 

The Beggar 45 

The Pilgrim 45 

The Egotist 45 

Dot and Carry One . . ..... 45 



PAGB. 



The Imitation 45 

Going to Service 46 

Kissing the Candlestick 46 

The Disappointment 46 

Florist's Choice 46 

Fool's Ivcap 46 

The Riddle 46 



The Secret 



46 



The Scholar's "Spell" ...... 46 



Blind Man's Choice 
The Clock .... 



46 
46 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

The Hobby Horse 47 

Hit or Miss 47 

The Quiet Lodger 47 

Stoops to Conquer 47 

The Sofa 47 

Gallant Gardener 47 

The Statesman 47 

At the Alercy of the Company ... 47 

Kissing Under the Candlestick ... 47 

|To Kiss Your Own Shadow .... 47 

^To Kiss the One You Love Best . . 47 

The Two Guesses 47 

Vhe Exile 47 

Vhe "B" Hive 48 

^TheTrio 48 

Rob Rowley 48 

Statue of Love 48 



PAGE 

The Chance Kiss 48 

The Blind Quadrille 48 

The Turned Head 48 

King of Morocco is Dead 48 

Yard of Love Ribbon 49 

Journey to Cythene 49 

Love's Arch 49 

Convent Porter 49 

The Face of Wood 50 

Declaration of Love 50 

The Comparison 50 

The Emblem 50 

Spirit of Contradiction 50 

Trip to Corinth 51 

Kisses at Second Hand 51 

Shoot the Robin 51 

The Stupid Kiss 61 



GAME OF CHESS, 



Order of the Men on the Board ... 52 

Po>vers of the Pieces 53 

Technical Terms of the Game ... 54 

Abbreviations 54 



Laws of the Game 

Comparative Value of the Pieces 
Hints for Commencing the Game 
Art of Playing Well 



PAQB. 

56 
57 
58 
58 



BACKGAMMON. 



PAGE. 



Backgammon Board 59 

Hoyle's Instructions 60 



Technical Terms 
Laws of the Game 



60 
60 



LIVING WAXWORKS. 



PAGE. 

Mrs. Jarley and Her Show 61 

Collection of Figures 61 

Chinese Giant 61 

*' Wind Up the Giant" 62 

Arranging Ingures on the Stage . . 62 

Winding-up Apparatus 63 

Sleeping Beauty 63 



PAOB. 

Babes in the Wood 63 

Siamese Twins 63 

Blue Beard and His Wife 63 

Singing Lady 63 

Captain Kidd and His Victim . • . . 63 

Hints for Rehearsals 64 

Spontaneous Wit 64 



CONTENTS. 
CURIOUS PUZZLES. 



Vll 



The Magic Square 65 

Traveler's Maze 65 

Blind Abbot and Monks 66 

The Dishonest Jeweler 67 

Three Gentlemen and Their Servants 67 

The Drover's Problem . 67 

The Nine Digits 67 

The Landlord Tricked 67 

Five Arab Maxims 68 

A Dozen Quibbles 68 

The Tree Puzzle . 68 



PAOB. 

The Dishonest Servants 68 

Addition by Subtraction 68 

The Famous Forty-fiv' 69 

Nothing Ivost by Subtraction .... 69 

Reading Another Person's Mind . . 69 

Magical Addition 69 

The Clever lyawyer 69 

New Way of Multiplying by Nine . . 69 

The Vest Puzzle 69 

Alphabetical Puzzles 69 

Guessing Stories 7o 



ANSWERS TO CURIOUS PUZZLES. 



Answer to the Magic Square .... 71 
Key to the Traveler's Maze. .... 71 
Answer to Blind Abbot and Monks . 72 
Answer to Dishonest Jeweler .... 72 
Answer to Three Gentlemen and Ser- 
vants 72 

Answer to Drover's Problem .... 72 

Answer to the Nine Digits 72 

Answer to I^andlord Tricked .... 72 

Answer to the Arab's Maxims. ... 72 

Answer to a Dozen Quibbles .... 72 

Answer to Tree Puzzle 73 

Answer to Dishonest Servants ... 73 

Answer to Addition by Subtraction . 73 

Answer to the Famous Forty-five . . 73 



PAGE 



Answer to Nothing Lost by Subtrac- 
tion 73 

Answer to Reading Another Person's 

Mind 73 

Answer to Magical Addition .... 74 

Answer to the Clever Lawyer .... 74 
Answer to New Way of Multiplying 

by Nine 74 

Answer to the Vest Puzzle 74 

Answers to Alphabetical Puzzles . . 75 

Answer to Guessing Story 75 

Answer to Words Described .... 75 

Answer to Celebrated Enigma ... 75 

Answer to Schiller's Enigma .... 75 

Answer to Enigma 75 



DRAMATIC PROVERBS. 



" When the Cat's Away, then the Mice 

Will Play" 76 

** It Never Rains but it Pours " . . 80 



''There is No Rose Without Thorns" 
" 'Tis an 111 Wind that Blows Nobody 
Good " 



PAGE. 

84 



90 



ACTING CHARADES. 



PAGE. 

List of Words for Charades 96 

Mis(s)-cell-any 97 

Mend-I-cant 100 



King-fisher 103 

Phan-tom 104 



vm 



CONTENTS 
PARLOR MAGIC. 



PAGE 

Pegasus in Flight 11^ 

Pith Dancer ^^^ 

Hydraulic Dancer m 

Immovable Card m 

Magic Fan ^ 

Magic Figure 1^^ 

Magic Flute 11^ 

Jack-in-the-Box 11^ 

Bird Whistles 11^ 

Animated Serpent ''l-^ 

Camera (Miniature) 114 

^Eolian Harp ll** 

Cold Liquid and Luminous Face . . 115 

Transparent Colored Water 115 

Vial of the Four Elements 115 

Paper Parachute H^ 

Magic Tumbler H^ 

Experiments in Galvanism 117 

Balanced Coin H^ 

Man in the Moon H^ 

The Watch Trick 118 



To Put an Egg in a Small-necked 

Bottle 

" Twenty Cent " Trick 

Vanishing Dime 

Disappearing Coin 

Magic Thread 

Instantaneous Crystalization .... 
Eating a Candle After Lighting It . 

The Boomerang 

Magic Coin 

Fire in Water 

Fountain of Fire 

Magic Incendiary 

Mineral Chameleon 

Catching Fire from Cold Water . . 

Deceptive Vision 

Combustion Under Water 

To Make Water Boil on Ice . . . . 

Mimic Gas House 

Making Fire Burn Under Water . . 



PAOS. 

119 
119 
119 
120 
120 
121 
121 
121 
122 
122 
122 
122 
123 
123 
123 
123 
123 
124 
124 



PALMISTRY: OR, HOW TO READ THE HAND, 



PAGE. 



Seven Categories of Hands 125 

Practical Hands 126 

Meaning of Knotted Fingers . . . . 126 

Fingers Contrasted 12T 

Meaning of the Thumb 128 

Horny Hands 129 

Elementary Hand 1^^ 

Spatulate Hand 130 

Artistic Hand 1^1 

Uscfttl Hand 138 

Philosophic Hand 134 



PAGE. 



Psychic Hand 135 

Mixed Hand 136 

Man and Woman 13T 

Hand Explained 138 

Divisions of the Palm ...... 139 

Mount of Venus I'lO 

Meaning of Jupiter 1-41 

The Three Parts 142 

Line of Life 1-42 

Fortunate Hand 1-13 

Hand Divided into Periods .... 143 



WONDERS OF HYPNOTISM, 



PAGE- 



Thc Hypnotic State 145 

First Experiment 14'> 

Second Experiment 145 



Third Experiment 146 

Fourth Experiment 146 

"Fast Asleep" 1^6 



CONTENTS. 



U 



"Wake Up*' 147 

Aid to Medicine 14T 

Use of the Hands 148 

Gaijiiag Control 148 

Power of Suggestion 148 



Experiments in New York 149 

Anecdote of Paul King 149 

lycgal Aspects of Hypnotism .... 149 

Women Are Easy Subjects 149 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES AND PASTIMES. 



Chemical Affinity ....<.... 150 

Chemical Attraction 150 

Experiment with Quicksilver ... 151 

Potassium and Oxygen 152 

Two Harmless Poisons ...... 152 

Compounds of Air 152 

Wonderful Combinations 152 

Change of Color 152 

Change of Bulk 152 

Beautiful Crystals 153 

Chemical Solution 153 

Chemical Law Reversed 154 

To Make Soap 154 

To Decompose Soap . 154 

Divisibility of Sulphate of Iron . . 155 
Repulsion — Steel and Water . . . . 155 
Repulsion — Mercury and Glass . . 155 
Attraction Between Mercury and Gold 155 
To Transform I^oaf Sugar Into Char- 
coal 155 

Charcoal Formed Without Fire . . 156 



PAGE. 

Lime Formed by Breathing .... 156 
Singular Effects of Laughing Gas . 156 
How to Make Laughing Gas .... 157 
To Produce a Solid from Two Liquids 157 
To Produce a Liquid from Two Solids 158 

To Make Test Papers 158 

To Change the Color of Flowers . . 159 
Purple, Green and Scarlet Produced 

from a Blue Color 

Effect of Alkalies and Acids on Colors 
To Test the Purity of Water .... 
To Form Beautiful Crystals .... 

Artificial Mineral Baskets 161 

Rapid Crystalization 161 

Apparent Transformation of Iron into 

Copper • 161 

Beautiful Appearance of Hoar Frost 161 
To Make Fusible Spoons ..... 161 
To Make Artificial Fireballs .... 161 
Curious Property of Burning Camphor 162 
To Test the Purity of Steel .... 162 



159 
159 
159 
160 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



PAGE. 

The Two Electricities 163 

Bodies That Repel Each Other ... 163 

Conductors and Non- Conductors . . 164 

Electric Flashes 164 

Torpedo, or Electric Fish 165 

The Microphone 166 

Magnetism . 166 

Simple Magnets . 166 

To Make a Bar Magnet 167 

Experiment with Iron Filings . . . 167 

Tq Copy Lines of Magn'^tic Force . 167 



The Mariner's Compass ...... 167 

The Earth Is a Magnet 168 

To Make a Tom Thumb Electro 

Magnet 168 

North and South Poles 168 

The Air We Breathe 169 

Burning Phosphorus 169 

An Acid 170 

The Constituents of Air 170 

Elements and Compounds 171 

Experiments with Oxygen .... 171 



CONTENTS. 



An Oxide 

Hydrogen 

Hydrogen in the Sun 

Eclipse of the Sun 

Composition of Water 

Burning Hydrogen from a Jet ... 

An Alkali 

A Trick with Colors 

Chlorine 

How to Prepare Chlorine 

Striking Experiments with Chlorine 



PAGE. 

172 
172 
173 
173 
173 
174 
174 
174 
175 
175 
175 



Chlorine and Hydrogen 175 

How to Bleach 176 

To Ignite Paper Without Match or 

Fire 176 

Action of Light on Silver 176 

Developing Photographic Plate . . . 177 

In the Photographer's Studio . . . 177 

The Camera 178 

Pouring Collodion on Plate .... 178 

Printing Frames 178 

How to write Your Name Upon Glass 179 



PHRENOLOGY; OR, HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



PAGE. 



Names and Locations of the Faculties 180 

Amativeness 1^^ 

Conjugality 1^^ 

Parental Love 1^1 

Friendship ^^^ 

Inhabitiveness 1^1 

Continuity 181 

Vitativeness 1^2 

Combativeness 182 

Destructiveness 182 

Alimentiveness 182 

Acquisitiveness 182 

Sccretiveness 182 

Cautiousness 182 

Approbativeness 182 

Self-Esteem ... 182 

Firmness • • 183 

Conscientiousness 183 

Hope 183 

Spirituality 183 

Veneration 183 

Benevolence 183 



Constructiveness 
Ideality . . . . 
Sublimity . . . 
Imitation . . . 
Mirthful ness . . 
Individuality . . 

Form 

Size 

Weight . . . . 

Color 

Order 

Calculation . . . 
Locality . . . . 
Eventuality . . 

Time 

Tune 

Language . . . 

Causality . . . 

Comparison . . 

Human Nature . 

Agreeableness . 



THE SELF=1NSTRUCT0R- 



"Know Thyself '» 186 

Physiological Conditions Affecting 

Character 187 

Structure Corresponds with Char- 
acter 188 



Shape Corresponds with Character 

Resemblances of Shape 

Human and Animal Physiognomy 

Oneness of Structure 

Features and Lin^bs 



183 

183 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

184 

185 

185 

185 

185 

185 

185 

185 



PAGE. 

188 
189 
189 
190 
191 



CONTENTS. 



zi 



Broad, or Vital Structure 191 

Muscular Temperament 192 

Sharp, or Mental Organization . . . 192 

Combinations of Temperament . . . 192 

Animal Temperament 193 

Tall and Slim 193 

The Mental Vital 194 

Danger of Overwork 195 

The Laugh Corresponds with Char- 
acter 195 

The Walk as Indicating Character . 196 

Irregular Motions 196 

Mode of Shaking Hands 19T 



PAQB. 

Mouth and Eyes Expressive of Char- 
acter . . 19T 

Intonations Expressing Character . 197 

Signs of Deep Feeling 198 

Hair, Skin, etc., as Indicating Char- 
acter 198 

Physiognomy 199 

Vital Organs 199 

Language of the Organs 200 

Redness and Paleness of Face . . . 200 
Health and Disease as Afifecting Men- 
tality 201 

Social Aflfections 202 

Meaning of Wide Head 202 



SPEECHES OF GREAT ORATORS AND MARTIAL HEROES, 



Reply of Achilles to the Envoys of 

Agamemnon 203 

Hector's Rebuke to Poly damns . . 204 
Alexander the Great to His Men . . 204 

Darius to His Army 205 

Address of Nicias to His Troops . . 206 
Brutus Over the Dead Lucretia . . 206 
Leonidas to His Three Hundred . . 207 

Catiline to His Army 207 

Marcus Brutus on the Death of Caesar 208 
Mark Antony on Caesar's Death . . 209 

Hannibal to His Army 210 

Scipio to His Army 211 

Alfred the Great to His Men .... 212 
Galgacus to the Caledonians . . . . 212 
Marullus to the Roman Populace . . 213 
Catiline to the Gallic Conspirators . 213 
Catiline's Last Harangue to His 

Army 214 

Regulus to the Roman Senate . . . 214 
Regulus to the Carthagenians . . . 215 

Rienzi to the Romans ,216 

Spartacus to the Gladiators .... 217 
Spartacus to the Roman Envoys . . 219 
Henry V to His Soldiers . ..... 220 



PAQK. 

To the Army Before Quebec .... 220 
Philip Van Artevelde to the Men of 

Ghent 221 

Earl of Richmond to His Army . . 222 
Napoleon to the Army of Italy . . . 222 
Wat Tyler's Address to the King . . 223 
Washington to His Soldiers .... 224 

Lord Byron to the Greeks 224 

Address of Black Hawk to General 

Street 225 

lyOgan to Lord Dunmore 226 

To the Secretary of War 226 

Supposed Speech of an Indian Chief 226 
Alasco to His Countrymen ..... 227 

Arminius to His Soldiers 227 

Saul Before His Last Battle .... 228 
Gustavus Vasa to the Delecartians . 228 
Speech of Henry V at the Siege of 

Harfleur 229 

Germanicus to His Mutinous Troops 229 
Bonaparte's Farewell to His Army . 230 

The Veterans. 230 

What Saved the Union 231 

Cromwell on the Death of Charles I. 231 
Warren's Address 232 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS READINGS, RECITATIONS AND DIALOGUES. 



The Red King's Warning 

Coeur de I^ion at the Bier of his 

Father 

Cato Over the Dead Body of His Son 

Ciesar's Message to Cato 

Catiline's Defiance 

The Four Kisses 

The Drummer Boy 

To a Skeleton 

Betty and the Bear 

Farewell 

The American's Farewell 

The Soldier's Pardon 

The Last Station 

Dead Man's Gulch 

Lady Clare 

Putting Up o' the Stove 

De Yaller Chinee 

Five Chapters of Real Life .... 

The Obliging Druggist 

Mr. Pickwick in the Wrong Room . 

Manifest Destiny 

Mrs. Caudle Needs Spring Clothing . 

Kentucky Philosophy 

Mollie's Little Ram 

Socrates Snooks 

The Pilgrims 

Washington 

Napoleon Bonaparte 

Analysis of Bonaparte's Character . 
Address to the Young Men of Italy . 

Appeal to the Jury 

A Revolutionary Sermon 

The Murderer's Self-Betrayal .... 

The Fireman's Prayer 

The Rusty Sword 

Water and Rum 

The Bridge 

The Lutist and the Knightingale . . 

Rizpah 

Searching for the Slain 



233 



134 



23tJ 

237 

237 

238 

239 

239 

240 

240 

241 

241 

242 

247 

248 

249 

250 

251 

252 

254. 

254 

256 

256 

257 

257 

258 

259 

259 

260 

261 

262 

263 

264 

266 

267 

268 

268 

269 

270 



The Old Clock on the Stairs .... 272 

Tom's Thanksgiving 273 

Combat of Fitz-James and Roderick . 273 

The Gambler's Wife 274 

The Crucifixion 275 

No Sects in Heaven 275 

Good Night Papa 277 

Pledge with Wine 278 

The Thief on the Cross 280 

Papa's Letter. 281 

Broken Hearts 282 

Lines Relating to Curren's Daughter 283 

Shylock's Soliloquy and Address . . 284 

Soliloquy of Manfred . . . • ... 284 

Soliloquy of Romeo in the Garden . 285 
Soliloquy of Richard IIL before the 

Battle of Bosworth 286 

Hamlet's Soliloquy 286 

Cato on the Immortality of the Soul 286 

Soliloquy of Richard ni 287 

Lady Macbeth's Soliloquy 287 

Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal 

be Proud ? 288 

Where Are the Dead 289 

The Quality of Mercy 290 

Othella's Farewell 290 

Columbus in Chains 290 

The Polish Boy 290 

Der Drummer 292 

Yawcob's Strauss 292 

Paddy's Reflections on Cleopatra's 

Needle 293 

Aunt Polly Green 294 

Thirty Years with a Shrew .' ... 295 

Uncle Pete 297 

Pat's Excuse 298 

The Duel 299 

Reading the Will 301 

The Debtor and the Dun 303 

The Disagreeable Meddler o04 

Spartacus and Jovius . 305 



CONTENT? 



xni 



The Resolve of Regulus 306 

How the Money Goes 308 

The Salutatorian's Difficulties ... 309 

Go, Feel What I Have Felt .... 313 

The Progress of Madness 314 

Out of the Old House, Nancy ... 315 

Gone with a Handsomer Man . . . 315 

Caught in the Quicksand 317 

The American Indian 318 

David's Lament for Absalom .... 319 

Poor Little Joe 320 

DotLambs What Mary Haf Got . . 321 

The Miser 322 

Artemus Ward at the Tomb of Shake- 
speare 322 

The Burial of Moses ....... 323 

Too Late for the Train 324 



Was It Right. . . • ^^^^H* • 326 

Resignation '^^H* * ^^^ 

The Nobility of Labor . 328 

Hans and Fritz 328 

John and Tibbie Davison's Dispute . 329 

Jenkins Goes to a Picnic 330 

The Texas Cow 331 

Jim Smiley' s Frog 331 

The Pipe 333 

Say! 333 

Pygmaleon and Galatea 334 

Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius . . . 337 

Scene Between Hamlet and the Queen 339 

Lochiel's Warning 341 

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland . . 343 

A Debate 346 





CONTEST BETWEEN RACQUET CLUBS 

"HE GAME OF RACQUETS IS SOM EWH AT SIM ILAR TO LAWN TENNIS, BUT IS PLAYED iNDOORS 

OR WITHIN AN ENCLOSURE. IT IS A GAME REQUIRING QUICK THOUGHT, 

SWIFT MOVEMENTS AND SKILL IN HANDLING THE RACQUET 



Parlor Games 



FOR 



Social Amusements. 




N a winter's evening 
when the lights burn 
brightly and a cheer- 
ful glow pervades 
the room, it is often 
found that merely 
sitting still is a very 
dull proceeding- 
Something is wanted in the way of 
amusement, exercise, fun and frolic, yet 
young folks are often at a loss, and their 
elders, too, sometimes, to know how to 
amuse themselves, and with mirth and 
merriment drive dull care away. 

Some people will say, "There are books 
let them read." We would whisper in 
their ears an adage as old as the hills, but 
none the less true or pithy; it is this : "All 
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." 
And again, let us remember that we also 
were once young, and laughed as heartily 
over " Blind Man's Buff" as the youngest 
of our acquaintance. 

All the apparatus required in Parlor 
Games is good temper, good spirits and 
gentleness, so that at any moment amuse- 
ment for an evening can be obtained by 
anybody who wills it. 

We do not wish to read our young friends 
a homily upon politeness, but we would 
impress upon them that good temper is in- 
dispensable in games of any kind. We 
have known the pleasure of a whole party 
marred simply by the unreasonableness 
2 



and ill-humor of one of the players, who, 
because he could not guess the answer of 
some game, declared that we had cheated 
him, and refused to play any longer, thus 
casting a gloom upon all who were playing. 

Roughness, too, we would particularly 
caution our boy friends to avoid. Very 
often, when carried away by the buoyancy 
of their spirits, they forget that young 
ladies are present, and participating in 
the pleasures of the game. There is no 
occasion for an exhibition of strength ; if 
you are caught, submit to it ; if you are 
forfeited, pay the fine without a murmur, 
or with a pleasant remark. 

Very often your little brothers or sisters 
will spoil a game by revealing who it is 
that is caught, or telling the answer to 
"Twenty Questions," before the person 
whose turn it is to guess it, has given it 
up. Do not be angry with them, but take 
another question, and begin again, for in 
all probability letting the secret out was 
merely childish importance, in knowing 
the answer as well as his elder brothers 
and sisters. Explain to him that he must 
not do so in the future, as he spoils the 
game ; and, take our word for it, he will 
try to avoid doing so again. 

We have heard many people say, " Oh, 
he's too young, he can't play." We say 
not so ; no child is too young to join in 
healthy and innocent pastime. There is 
no occasion to give a child a prominent 

17 



18 



PARLOR GAMES. 



part to perforin, or to let liim perform any 
part at all ; but you can lead him to believe 
that his presence is in every way as desira- 
ble as that of the oldest person present, 
and you can make him as happy as any of 
the older ones. 

Many of these games are quite new, and 
have never appeared in print before. They 
have been selected and invented by experts 
in the charmin^; art of in-door amusement. 
In some cases the forfeit has to be paid by 
a kiss ; of course that is only intended for 
a family party; in a mixed assembly some 
other mode of payment can be substituted, 
if you so desire. 

With these remarks, we leave our readers 
to enjoy themselves over Parlor Games. 

THE OOMIO CONCERT. 

In this performance the company for the 
time imagine themselves to be a band of 
musicians, though without the instru- 
ments. The leader of the band is sup- 
posed to furnish each of the performers with 
a different musical instrument. Conse- 
quently, a violin, a harp, a flute, an accor- 
deon, a piano, a jew's-harp, and anything 
else that would add to the noise, are all to 
be performed upon at the same time. Pro- 
vided with an instrument of some descrip- 
tion himself, the leader begins playing a 
tune on his imaginary violincello, or what- 
ever else it may be, imitating the real sound 
as well as he can both in action and voice. 
The others all do the same, the sight pre- 
sented being, as may well be imagined, ex- 
ceedingly ludicrous, and the noise almost 
deafening. 

In the midst of it, the leader quite un- 
expectedly stops playing, and makes an 
entire change in his attitude and tone of 
voice, substituting for his own instrument 
one belonging to some one else. As soon 
as he does this, the performer who has been 



thus unceremoniously deprived of his in- 
strument takes that of his leader, and per- 
forms on it instead. Thus the game is 
continued, every one being expected to 
carefully watch the leader's actions, and 
to be prepared at any time for making a 
sudden change. 

CONSEQUENCES. 

The old-fashioned game of Consequences 
is so well known that there are doubtless 
few people who are not thoroughly ac- 
quainted with it. It is played in the fol- 
lowing manner : — Each person is first pro- 
vided with half a sheet of note paper and 
a lead pencil. The leader of the game then 
requests that (i) one or more adjectives may 
be written at the top of each paper by its 
owner, and that, having done so, the paper 
may be folded down about half an inch, so 
as to conceal what has been written. 

Every one then passes the paper to the 
right-hand neighbor, and proceeds to write 
on the sheet that has just been given him 
by his left-hand neighbor, (2) the name of 
a gentleman^ again folding the paper down 
and passing it on to the right. Then (3) 
one or inore adjectives are written ; then (4) 
a lady^ s nam.e ; next (5) where they met ; 
next (6) what he gave her ; next (7) zvhat 
he said to her ; next (8) zvhat she said to 
him,; next {g) tho: consequences ; and lastly 
(10) what the world said about it. 

Every time anything is written the paper 
must be turned down and passed on to the 
right. As soon as every one has written 
what the world said the papers are collected, 
and the leader will edify the company by 
reading them all aloud. The result will 
be something of this kind, or perhaps 
something even more absurd may be pro- 
duced — "The happy energetic (i) Mr. 
Simpkins (2) met the modest (3) Miss Rob 
inson (4) in the back alley (5). He gave 



PARLOR GAMES. 



19 



her a sly glance (6), and said to lier, ' Do 
you love the moon ? ' (7). She replied, ' Not 
if 1 k7tow it^ (8). The consequence was 
they sang a duet (9), and the world said, 
' Wonders never cease^ " (10). 

THE ADVENTURERS. 

The great advantage to be derived from 
many of our most popular games is that 
they combine instruction with amusement. 
The game we are about to describe is one 
of this number, and will give the players 
the opportunity of exhibiting their geo- 
graphical knowledge, as well as any knowl- 
edge they may have as to the physical con- 
dition, manufactures, and customs of the 
countries which, in imagination, they 
intend visiting. 

The company must first of all fancy 
themselves to be a party of travellers bound 
for foreign lands. 

A starting-place is fixed upon, from 
which point the first player sets out on his 
journey. In some cases maps are allowed, 
and certainly, if any one should be doubt- 
ful as to the accuracy of his ideas of local- 
ity, both for his own sake and that of his 
friends he will do wisely to have a map 
before him. 

The first player then proceeds to inform 
the company what spot he means to visit, 
and what kind of a conveyance he means 
to travel in ; on arriving at the place what 
he means to buy, and on returning home 
which of his friends is to be favored by 
having his purchase offered as a gift. 

To do all this is not quite so easy as 
might at first be imagined. In the first 
place there must be some knowledge of 
the country to which the traveller is going ; 
^ he must know the modes of conveyance, 
the preparations he will have to make, and 
the time that will be occupied during the 
journey. 



Also, he must know something of the 
capabilities of the people whom he means 
to visit, because what he buys must be 
something that is manufactured by them, 
or that is an article of produce in their 
country. For instance, he must not go to 
Alaska for grapes, or to the warm and 
sunny South for furs. The presents, too, 
must be suitable for the persons to whom 
they are to be offered. A Japanese fan 
must not be offered to a wild schoolboy, or 
a meerschaum pipe to a young lady. For- 
feits may be exacted for any mistakes of 
this kind, or, indeed, for mistakes of any 
description ; the greater will be the fun if 
at the end of the game a good number of 
forfeits have been accumulated. 

The second player must make his start- 
ing-point where his predecessor completed 
his travels, and may either cut across the 
country quickly, make his purchase, and 
return home again, or he may loiter on the 
road to sketch, botanise, or amuse himself 
in any other way. 

It is astonishing how much pleasure 
may be derived by listening to the various 
experiences related, especially when a few 
of the company are gifted with vivid imag- 
inations. 

Sometimes rhyme is employed instead of 
prose in recounting the travels, and with 
very great success. When this is done the 
speaker may, if so inclined, end his descrip- 
tion abrubtly, thus leaving it to the next 
player about to commence his narrative to 
supply a line which shall rhyme with the 
one just uttered. 

.ffiSOP'S MISSION. 

This being a game of mystery, it is, of 
course, necessary that it should be un- 
known to, at any rate, a few of the com- 
pany — the more the better. One of the 
gentlemen well acquainted with the game 



20 



PARLOR GAMKS. 



undertakes to represent ^sop. In order j 
to do so more effectually, he may put a 
cushion or pillow under his coat to imitate 
a hump, provide himself with a thick stick 
for a crutch, make a false nose, and put a 
patch over one eye. 

The rest of the company must then 
each assume the name of some subject of 
the animal kingdom — a bird, beast, or fish 
— and having done this must prepare them- 
selves to listen to the words of their great 
master. Limping into their midst, ^sop 
then tells them that the wrath of the great 
god Jupiter has been aroused, and as the 
cause of a calamity so terrible must be that 
one or more of them must have been com- 
miting some crime or other, he is anxious 
to discover without further delay who are 
the guilty subjects. "I shall therefore," 
continues he, "question you closely all 
round, and I shall expect you every one 
to give me truthful answers. 

" To begin with you, Mr. Lion, as you 
are the king of beasts, I sincerely hope 
you have done nothing derogatory to your 
high position ; still, as it is absolutely 
necessary that you should be examined 
with the rest of your friends, will you 
please tell me what food you have eaten 
lately?" 

Should the lion have eaten a lamb, a 
sheep, a tiger, a bear, or any other dainty 
that is spelt without the letter O, he is 
acquitted as innocent ; but should he have 
eaten a leopard, a goose, a fox, or any other 
creature, in the name of which the letter 
O occurs, he is pronounced by -^sop to be 
deserving of punishment, and is therefore 
sentenced to pay a forfeit. 

The other animals in turn then undergo 
a similar examination, during which each 
one must remember that in namiug their 
prey they must confine themselves to such 
food as is suited to the species they have 



adopted. The game may be carried on 
for any length of time, or until all have 
discovered the secret in it. There is no 
fear of the interest flagging, so long as 
even only one of the company is still left 
unable to solve the mystery. 

THE WOLF AND THE HIND. 

In this game all the ladies present can 
find employment, but only one gentleman 
is required, and the one who is considered 
the most agile should be chosen, for, in 
truth, he will find exercise enough for his 
dexterity and his patience. 

This personage is called in this game the 
Wolf ; the eldest girl present is the Hind ; 
all the others place themselves in a line 
behind her, according to their ages, and 
are called the Hind's fawns. 

It is the Wolfs part to catch the lady 
who is at the extremity of the line, and he 
manifests his hostile intentions by the fol- 
lowing conversation : — ^^ I am a Wolf^ and 
I will eat you.'* ^ 

The Hind answers — " / am a Hind^ and 
I will defend my self y 

The Wolf replies : — "/ must have the 
youngest and tender est of your fawns?'' 

After this dialogue, the Wolf endeavors 
to seize the desired prey, but the Hind, 
extending her arms, keeps him off ; but if 
he succeeds in passing her, the young lady 
at the end of the line may abandon her 
place before he can catch her, and place 
herself in front of the Hind, where she no 
longer runs any risk, and so with the rest 
in succession, until the Hind becomes the 
last of the line. 

Then the game ends; the unskillful Wolf 
must pay as many forfeits as he has 
allowed young ladies to escape, and the 
players select a successor if they wish to 
renew the game. 

If, on the contrary, before the end of 




THE SWIMMING POOL 

THE ENGRAVING SHOWS AN ANIMATED SCENE OF ENJOYMENT. THE SWIMMERS REACH 

THE WATER BY USE OF THE SLIDING BOARD, THUS GIVING 

ADDITIONAL ZEST TO THE SPORT 




^ z 



Si 



5 - 

< ^ 

u 

o o 

O 2 

< < 

z 2 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



21 



the game, ne succeeds in seizing one of 
the young fawns, he does not eat her, but 
he has a right to claim a kiss from her, 
and to make her pay a forfeit, which prom- 
ises new pleasure at the end of the game. 
This game, requiring, as it does, much 
quickness of movement and agility, is not 
as well fitted for the house as for a lawn or 
field, where it presents a picturesque view 
to the lookers-on, and at the same time 
enables the players to display to advantage 
the grace and rapidity of their movements. 

FRENCH BLIND MAN. 

In this game, instead of blindfolding 
one of the players, his hands are tied 
behind him, and in that difficult way he 
must endeavor to catch one of his compan- 
ions, who must, when caught, submit to 
the same restraint. 

THE RIBBONS. 

Bach person in the company takes a 
ribbon, and holds it by one end. The 
other ends are all united in the hand of 
the one who leads the game, and who con- 
sequently is placed in the middle of the 
circle. 

When he says — ^'' PulP'' they must let 
go, when he says " Let go " they must pull 
the ribbon which they hold. It is aston- 
ishing how many forfeits are won at this 
simple game. 

THE COTTON PLIES. 

One of the players takes a flake of cot- 
ton or bit of down which he casts into the 
air in the midst of a circle formed by those 
present, who are seated close together. 
He at once puffs with his breath to keep it 
floating in the air, and the one towards 
whom the flake takes its course must puff 
iti the same way to keep it from falling 



upon his lap, which would cost him a for- 
feit, 

Nothing is more amusing than to see 
ten or twelve people, with upturned faces, 
blowing and puffing, each in his own way, 
to send from one to the other, this flake of 
cotton. Sometimes it happens that as one\ 
cannot laugh and puff" at the same moment, ' 
the tuft of cotton falls into the mouth of 
one of the company, who in vain tries to 
find breath enough to blow it away. This 
excites the laughter of the other players, 
who demand from him a forfeit for his 

gluttony. 

THE HUNTSMAN. 

This game is one of the liveliest winter 
evening's pastimes that can be imagined. 
It may be played by any number of per- 
sons above four. One of the players is 
styled the "Huntsman," and the others 
must be called after the different parts of 
the dress or accoutrements of a sportsman : 
thus, one is the coat, another the hat, 
whilst the shot, shot-belt, powder, powder- 
flask, dog, and gun, and every other 
appurtenance belonging to a huntsman, 
has its representative. 

As many chairs as there are players, 
excluding the Huntsman, should next be 
ranged in two rows, back to back, and all 
the players must then seat themselves ; 
and being thus prepared, the Huntsman 
walks round the sitters, and calls out the 
assumed name of one of them : for instance, 
"Gun!" when that player immediately 
gets up, and takes hold of the coat-skirts 
of the Huntsman who continues his walk, 
and calls out all of the others, one by one; 
each must take hold of the skirts of the 
player before him, and when they are all 
summoned, the Huntsman sets off running 
round the chairs as fast as he can, the 
other players holding on and running 
after him. 



22 



PARLOR GAMES. 



When he has run round two or three 
times, he shouts out " Bang !" and imme- 
diately sits down on one of the chairs, 
leaving his followers to scramble to the 
other seats as they best can. Of course, 
one must be left standing, there being one 
chair less than the number of players, and 
the player so left must pay a forfeit. The 
game is continued until all have paid three 
forfeits, when they are cried, and the 
punishments or penances declared. The 
Huntsman is not changed throughout the 
game, unless he gets tired of his post. 

COPENHAGEN. 

First procure a long piece of tape or 
twine, sufficient to go round the whole 
company, who must stand in a circle, 
holding in each of their hands a part of 
the string — the last takes hold of the two 
ends of the tape. One remains standing 
in the centre of the circle who is called 
"the Dane,'^ and who must endeavor to 
slap the hands of one of those who are 
holding the string, before they can be 
withdrawn. Whoever is not sufficiently 
alert, and allows the hands to be slapped, 
must take the place of the Dane, and in 
his turn, try to slap the hands of some one 
else. 

THE OAT AND THE MOUSE. 

IvCt all the company join hand in hand 
in a circle, except one who is placed inside, 
called the Mouse, and another outside, 
called the Cat. They begin by running 
round, raising the arms ; the Cat springs 
in at one side and the Mouse jumps out at 
the other ; they then suddenly lower the 
arms so that the Cat cannot escape. The 
Cat goes round mewini;, tr)ing to get out ; 
and as the circle must keep dancing round 
all the time, she must try and find a weak 
place tn 1)r(nk through. 



As soon as she gets out she chases the 
Mouse, who tries to save herself by get- 
ting within the circle again. For this pur- 
pose they raise their arms. If she gets in 
without being followed by the Cat, the 
Cat must pay a forfeit, and try again ; but 
if the Mouse is caught she must pay a for- 
feit. Then they name who shall succeed 
them ; they fall into the circle, and the 
game goes on as before. 

HUNT THE HARE. 

The company all form a circle, holding 
each other's hands. One, called the Hare, 
is left out, who runs several times round 
the ring, and at last stops, tapping one of 
the players on the shoulder. The one 
tapped quits the ring and runs after the 
Hare, the circle again joining hands. The 
Hare runs in and out in every direction, 
passing under the arms of those in the 
circle until caught by the pursuer, when 
he becomes Hare himself Those in the 
circle must always be friends to the Hare, 
and assist its escape in every way possible. 

THE KEY GAME. 

This game may be played by any num- 
ber of persons, who should all, except one, 
seat themselves on chairs placed in a cir- 
cle, and he should stand in the centre of 
the ring. Each sitter must next take hold, 
with his left hand, of the right wrist of 
the person sitting on his left, being care- 
ful not to obstruct the grasp by holding 
the hands. When all have, in this man- 
ner, joined hands, they should begin mov- 
ing them from left to right, making a 
circular motion, and touching each other's 
hands, as if for the purpose of taking 
something from them. 

The player in the centre then presents a 
key to one of the sitters, and turns his 
back, so as to allow it to be privately 



PARLOR GAMES. 



23 



passed to another, who hands it to a third ; 
and thus the key is quickly handed round 
the ring from one player to the other ; 
which task is easily accomplished, on 
account of the continued motion of the 
hands of all the players. 

Meanwhile, the player in the centre, 
after the key has reached the third or 
fourth player, should watch its progress 
narrowly, and endeavor to seize it in its 
passage. If he succeed, the person in 
whose hand it is found, after paying a 
forfeit, must take his place in the centre, 
and give and hunt the key in his turn ; 
should the seeker fail in discovering the 
key in his first attempt, he must continue 
his search until he succeeds. When a 
player has paid three forfeits, he is ont. 

HUNT THE SLIPPER. 

This is usually an in-door game, although 
there is no other objection to its being 
played on a dry piece of turf than that the 
slipper cannot be heard, when struck by 
its momentary possessor, when passing 
round the joyous ring. Several young 
persons sit on the floor in a circle, a slipper 
is given to them, and one, who generally 
volunteers to accept the office in order to 
begin the game, stands in the centre, whose 
business it is to " chase the slipper by its 
sound." 

The parties who are seated, pass it round 
so as to prevent, if possible, its being 
found in the possession of any individual. 
In order that the player in the centre may 
know where the slipper is, it is occasionally 
tapped on the ground, and then suddenly 
handed on to the right or left. When the 
slipper is found in the possession of any 
one in the circle, by the player who is 
hunting it, the party on whom it is so 
found takes the latter player's place. 



OATOH THE RING. 

In order to play this capital game, the 
chairs are placed in a circle, just so far 
apart, that each person sitting can easily 
reach the hand of another person on either 
side of him. One person stands in the 
middle of the circle. A piece of string 
with a wedding, or a larger ring of brass, 
upon it, is then tied, of a sufficient length 
to reach all round the circle, so that each 
person may catch hold of it. 

The players are then to slide the ring 
along the string, passing it from one to the 
other, and the game is, for the person who 
stands in the centre to try to catch the 
ring. When he catches it, the person with 
whom he finds it is to go out into the 
centre. 

[Forfeits may be added to this game, if 
preferred, each person caught with the 
ring paying the forfeit. ] 

JACK'S ALIVE. 

A small piece of stick is lighted at one 
end, and the blaze blown out, leaving the 
sparks. It is then passed from one of the 
company to the next on his right hand, 
and so on round the circle, each one say- 
ing, as he hands it to his neighbor, "Jack's 
alive." The player who holds the stick 
when the last spark dies out must consent 
to have a delicate moustache painted on 
his face with the charred end of the stick, 
which is then relighted, and the game 
goes on. 

Should the wearer of the moustache 
have Jack die a second time on his hands, 
an imperial, whiskers, or exaggerated eye- 
brows may be added to his charms. While 
Jack is in a lively condition, with his 
sparks in fine brilliant order, he is passed 
carelessly from one player to another ; 
but when he shows symptoms of dying, it 
is amusing to see how rapidly he changes 



24 



PARLOR GAMES. 



hands, for each player is bound to receive 
him as soon as his neighbor pronounces 
^'Jack's alive." 

In case the moustache decorations are 
objected to, a forfeit may be paid, instead, 
by those who hold Jack dead. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 

By the exercise of a true and delicate 
politeness, this game may be rendered 
extremely agreeable to the young ladies 
who have been invited to join in it ; and 
the mischief of their answers adds in no 
slight degree to its charm. 

Each of the gentlemen plays the part of 
an insect, such as the Butterfly^ from 
which the game takes its name, and with 
which it commences ; the Bumble Bee^ the 
Afit^ the Fly^ the Caterpillaj-^ etc. 

The young ladies take each the name of 
a flower, as the Rose^ the Pink^ the Tube- 
rose^ the Violet^ the Hawthorn^ etc. 

When all these names are distributed 
and agreed upon, each player should be 
careful to remember them, so as not to 
pronounce any name that has not been 
chosen. Each player also must be pre- 
pared to answer as soon as the one who is 
speaking pronounces his assumed name. 
The speaker, however, when pronouncing 
the name, must have the address to look 
at some other person of the company. A 
wrong name pronounced, a wrong or 
tardy reply, are all faults which require a 
forfeit. 

EXAMPLE. 

THE BUTTERFLY. 

*' Here am I, suddenly transported into 
a garden of flowers ; and sucli flowers ! — 
all alike beautiful ! Here I find the sweet 
perfume of the Tuberose " 



THE TUBEROSE 

"Away, ugly insect ! do not approach 
me ! I have not forgotten that yesterday 
you embraced one of the most beautiful of 
my sisters, and now she is dead. Give me 
the A7it for my choice." 

THE ANT. 

'* Since you permit me, sweet flower, 
I will climb to the top of your perfumed 
cup, before the Sim has finished half his 
course. I will seek a shelter there until 
the Gardener comes, with his Watering 
Pot^ to give a new charm to your beauty. 
Until this moment I have paid my homage 

to the Violet '* 

THE VIOLET. 

"At last I shall find a moment for repose! 
Vainly I kept myself concealed beneath 
the grass ! this cruel insect has persecuted 
me worse than any Bumble Bee " 

The Bumble Bee then takes up the word, 
and the game continues ; but it must be 
observed, that the Insects are not allowed 
to address themselves to anything but a 
Flower^ and a Flower cannot address itself 
to anything but an Insect. Any mistake 
of this kind costs a forfeit, as well as the 
mention of any Flower or Insect which any 
of the players have named before. 

[The speaker must endeavor to intro- 
duce in a natural manner into his discourse 
the words Sun^ Gardener^ lVateri?tg Pot. 
These three words, for which the players 
are less prepared than they are for the 
names of the Flowers and Insects^ com- 
monly cause numerous forfeits, because 
many of the players forget, when the Su7t 
is named that they must rise from their 
seats; when the word Gardener is men- 
tioned, the Flowers must extend their 
hands, as if to supplicate his care, while 
the Insects alarmed, make a gesture as if 
about to fly, from dread of his presence, 
and finally, when the word Watering Pot 



\ 



PARLOR GAMES. 



is pronounced, all the Flowers must stand 
erect, as if reanimated by the freshness of 
the water ; while the Insects^ with one 
knee bent to the earth seem overwhelmed 
from the same cause. These different pos- 
tures, which form a pretty tableau, only 
cease when the speaker, whether gentle- 
man or lady, names some Flower or Insect^ 
which, in its turn, takes up the discourse.] 

HOW DO YOU LIKE IT? 

This is an excellent and very amusing 
game for winter-evening parties. It may 
be played by any number of persons. The 
company being seated, one of the party, 
called the Stock, is sent out of the room, 
and the company then agree upon some 
word which will bear more then one mean- 
ing. When the Stock comes back, he or 
she asks each of the company in succes- 
sion " How do you like it ? " One answers, 
"I like it hot ; " another, " I like it cold ; ' 
another, *' I like it old ; '' another, " I like 
it new.'^ He then asks the company in 
succession, again, " When do you like it? " 
One says, "At all times ; " another, '' Very 
seldom;" a third, "At dinner;" a fourth, 
"On the water;" a fifth on tne land;" 
etc. Lastly, the Stock goes round and 
asks,, "Where would you put it?" One 
says, ' ' I would put it up the chimney ; ' ' 
another, " I would throw it down a well ; " 
a third, " I would hang it on a tree ; " a 
■fourth "I would put it in a pudding." 
From these answers a witty girl may guess 
the word chosen ; but should she be unable 
to do so, she has to pay a forfeit. Many 
words might be chosen, such as : 

Aunt and ant. 

Rain and reign. 

Plane and plain. 

Vice a tool, and vice a crime. 

Key, of a door ; and quay, a place for 
ships. 



THE GAME OF THE RING. 

This game is nothing else than an appli- 
cation of one of the methods employed to 
tell several numbers thought of, and should 
be played in a company not exceeding 
nine persons, in order that it may be less 
complicated. 

Request any one of the company to take 
a ring and put it on any joint of whatever 
finger he may think proper. The feat then 
is, to tell what person has the ring, and on 
what hand, what finger and on what joint. 

For this purpose, term the first person 
I, the second 2, and so on ; also term the 
right hand i , the second 2. The first finger 
of each hand, that is to say, the thumb, 
must be denoted as i, the second 2, and so 
on to the little finger. The first joint of 
each finger, or that next the extremity, 
must be called i, the second 2, and the 
third 3. 

Let us now suppose that the fifth person 
has taken the ring and put it on the first 
joint of the fourth finger of his left hand. 
Then, to solve the problem, nothing more 
is necessary than to discover these num- 
bers ; 5, equivalent to the person ; 2, the 
hand ; 4, the finger ; and i, the joint. 

Commence by requesting any of the 
party to double the number of the person, 
which will give 10, and to subtract i from 
it ; desire him then to multiply the remain- 
der 9, by 5, which will give 45 ; to this 
product bid him add the number of the 
hand, 2, which will make 47, and then add 
5, which will make 52. Desire him then 
to double this last number — the result will 
be 104 — and to subtract i, leaving 103. 
Tell him then to multiply the remainder 
by 5, which will give 515, and to add to 
the product the number expressing the 
finger, which will make 519. 

Then bid him add 5, which will make 
524 ; and from 1048, the double of this 



26 



PARLOR Gx\MES. 



sum, let him subtract i, which will leave 
1047. Then desire him to multiply this 
remainder by 5, which will give 5235, and 
to add to this product i, the fourth finger 
indicating the joint, which will make 5236. 

In the last place, bid him again add 5, 
and the sum will be 5241, the figures of 
which will clearly indicate the person who 
has the ring, and the hand, finger, and joint 
on which it was placed. 

It is evident that all these complex oper- 
ations merely amount, in reality, to multi- 
plying by ten the number which expresses 
the person, then adding that which denotes 
the hand, multiplying again by ten, and 
so on. As this artifice may be detected, it 
would be better, when performing this feat, 
to employ the method previously described, 
when no one of the numbers exceeds nine 
— for, on account of the numbers which 
must be subtracted, the operation will be 
more difficult to be comprehended. 

THE ELEMENTS. 

In this game the party sit in a circle. 
One throws a handkerchief at another, and 
calls out AIR ! The person whom the 
handkerchief hits must call Eagle, Vul- 
ture, Lark, Pigeon, Hawk, Goose, Par- 
tridge, Woodcock, Snipe, or some creatures 
that belong to the air, before the caller can 
count ten ; which he does in a loud voice 
and as fast as possible. 

If a creature that does not live in the 
air is named, or if a person fails to speak 
quick enough, a forfeit must be paid. 

The person who catches the handker- 
chief throws it to another, in turn, and 
cries out earth ! The person who is hit 
must call out Elephant, Horse, Dog, Cat, 
Mouse, Guina Pig, Ox, or any creature 
that lives upon the earth, in the same space 
of time allowed the other. 

Then throw the handkerchief to another 



and call out WATER ! The one who 
catches the handkerchief observes the same 
rules as the preceding, and is liable to 
the same forfeits, unless he calls out imme- 
diately. Trout, Mackerel, Herring, Sole, 
or the name of some creature that lives in 
the water. / 

Any one who mentions a bird, beast, or^ 
fish twice, is likewise liable to a forfeit. 

If any player calls fire? every one 
must keep silence, because no creature 
lives in that element. 

TWIRL THE TRENCHER. 

A wooden platter or a plate, is brought 
in, and given to a person who is to be the 
leader. The leader then takes a name 
himself, and gives a name to each of the 
company. Numbers will do, or the Chris- 
tian or familiar names by which they are 
usually known, or the names of animals 
or flowers may be adopted. Each person 
must be sharp enough to remember his or 
her name directly it is mentioned. Each 
person has a chair, and a large circle (the 
larger the better) is formed around the 
plate. 

The leader then gives the plate a spin, 
and calls out the name of the person who 
is to catch it. Leader then runs to his seat, 
leaving the plate spinning, and when the 
person named fails to catch the plate 
before it has done spinning, he or she 
must pay a forfeit, which must be held 
until all the players have forfeited. 

[This game excites a great deal of mer- 
riment, and should be played in a spirited 
manner. The plate should be fairly spun, 
and the names distinctly but quickly called 
out. A little stratagem should be em- 
ployed by looking towards one person and 
then calling out the name of another quite 
unexpectedly. Nobody should demur to 
pay a forfeit if fairly fined.] 



PARLOR GAMES. 



2T 



THE ALPHABET: OR, I LOVE MY 
LOVE WITH AN A. 

Formerly this game was confined to the 
players saying in rotation, " I love my love 
with an A, because he is Amiable, Ardent, 
Aspiring, Ambitious," and so on, through 
as many letters of the alphabet as might 
be approved of, each player having to in- 
vest his love with a quality beginning with 
the letter in question. Forfeits were ex- 
acted, — firstly, for the repetition of any 
quality mentioned by a previous player ; 
secondly, for faults of spelling 

The game, as it is at present played, will 
be understood from the following speci- 
mens : 

' ' I love my love with an A, because he 
is Affectionate, because his name is 
Augustus, because he lives in Albany. I 
will give him an Amethyst, I will feed 
him on ApplE-TarTS, and make him a 
bouquet of Anemones." 

*' I love my love with a B, because she 
is Beautiful, because her name is Bea- 
trice, because she lives in Boston. I will 
give her a Brooch, I will feed her on 
Berries, and make her a bouquet of 
Bluebells." 

This form need not be strictly adhered 
to, we merely offer it as a model. The 
leader of the game may vary it as he 
thinks fit ; but whatever form he may 
choose to adopt, the others must imitate 
closely (allowing for the variation of the 
sexes). Failure in this must be punished 
by a forfeit ; the old regulation as to repe- 
tition and mistakes in spelling (accidents 
which will happen, even now, in the best 
educated families) still holding good. 

The whole alphabet may be gone through 
in this manner, if the interest of the game 
lasts long enough. It is advisable, how- 
ever, to exclude the letters K, Q, X, and 
Z, which offer too many difficulties. 



THE DEAF MAN. 

The person on whom this temporary in- 
firmity is imposed must stand out in the 
middle of the room, and to all that is said 
must answer, three times following, ''I am 
deaf; I can^t hear." The fourth time, 
however, the answer must be, "I can hear." 
The fun, to all but the unfortunate victim, 
is, for the first three times to make the 
deaf man some agreeable proposal, such as 
bringing a lady to him and asking him to 
salute her, to which he is obliged to turn 
a deaf ear ; while the fourth time he is re- 
quested to perform some humiliating act, 
such as to take a lady to another gentle- 
man to salute, sing a comic song, recite 
extempore verses in praise of the prettiest 
girl in the company, and to all these dis- 
agreeable invitations his ears must be sud- 
denly open. In fact, he must illustrate 
exactly the inverse of the old proverb, 
" None so deaf as those who won^t hear." 
He is not obliged to accede to the requests 
that are made to him in the intervals of his 
deaf fit. This would be too severe. 

MY LADY'S TOILET. 

Each having taken the name of some 
article of dress, chairs are placed for all 
the party but one, so as to leave one chair 
too few. They all sit down but one, who 
is called the I^ady's Maid, and stands in 
the centre ; she then calls out ''My I^ady's 
up and wants her shoes," when the one 
who has taken that name jumps up and 
calls " Shoes ! " sitting down directly. 

If any one does not rise as soon as called, 
she must forfeit. Sometimes she says " My 
I^ady wants her whole toilet," then every 
one must jump up and change chairs, and 
as there is a chair too few, of course it oc- 
casions a scramble, and whoever is left 
standing must be Lady's Maid, and call t'' 
the others as before. 



28 



PARLOR GAMES. 



CROSS PURPOSES. 

This is another very entertaining game. 

One player goes around among the cir- 
cle and whispers in each one's ear an 
answer he is to make to the next player, 
who comes after him asking questions. 
For instance, Charles goes round to Nos. 
I, 2, 3, and 4. 

To No. I, he whispers. "Hot, sweet, 
and strong." 

To No. 2, "With pepper and vinegar.'' 

To No. 3, '' With my best love." 

To No. 4, " No, indeed." 

And to the whole circle an answer of 
some kind. 

Jane comes after Charles to ask any 
question her own wit may suggest. 

She asks No. i, "What kind of a week 
have you passed ? " 

No. I, " Hot sweet and strong." 

To No. 2, "Shall you ever marry? " 

No. 2, "With pepper and vinegar." 

To No. 3, " How will you keep house on 
these?" 

No. 3. " With my. best love." 

To No. 4, " No, indeed ! " 

Much amusement is sometimes made 
by the total variance of the questions and 
answers, and sometimes a very hard blow 
is administered to some of the company ; 
but, of course, no ofifence can be taken. 

THE DUTCH CONCERT. 

In this game all the parties sit down. 
Each person makes a selection of an in- 
strument — say one takes a flute, another a 
drum, a third the trombone, and a fourth 
the piano, and each person must imitate in 
the best way he can the sound of the in- 
strument, and the motions of the player. 
The leader of the band, commencing with 
his instrument, all the others follow, tun- 
ing some popular air, such as "Yankee 
Doodle," "Pop goes the Weasel," "Bob- 



bing Around," "In the Days when we 
went Gipseying," or any other air. 

The fun consists in this, that the leader 
may take any instrument from either of 
the players, who must watch the leader, 
and take the instrument which he was pre- 
viously playing. // lie fails to do so^ he pays 
a forfeit. Or if he makes a mistake, and 
takes the wrong instrument, he pays for- 
feit. Suppose A be the leader, playing the 
violin, and B to be one of the band, play- 
ing the trombone. Directly A ceases to 
play the violin and imitates the trombone, 
B must cease the trombone, and imitate 
the violin, and immediately A returns to 
the violin, B must take the trombone, or 
whatever other instrument A was playing 
the moment before he took the violin. If 
he make a mistake, he pays forfeit. 

[This is a very laughable, though rather 
noisy game. It should not be continued 
too long. A good leader w^ill soon be able 
to impose forfeits upon all the players.] 

THE PHILHARMONIC CONCERT. 

If music is the food of love, noise in this 
game is the food of fun. It proceeds in 
the manner and form following: The 
players seat themselves and form a circle, 
each adopting an instrument of which he 
is the imaginary performer. One chooses 
the violin, and draws his right hand back- 
ward and forward over his left arm , 
another the horn, and puffs out his cheeks, 
imitating the acting of a horn blower ; 
another the piano, and strums with his 
hands upon his knees ; another the harp, 
taking a chair or any other suitable piece 
of furniture to play on ; and soon throuL^li 
as many instruments as there are per- 
formers. 

Each player must imitate the action, 
and, as well as he is able, the sound of the 
instrument upon which he is supposed to 












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W 5 


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^ w 


^ 1 


H H 


% i 


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P^ W 




w o 


p. o 


S s 


O D 


^ J 




!^ 


H 


■^ 


^ 


s 


W 


s 


Q 


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X 






ft; -^ 

si ^ 



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PARLOR GAMES. 



29 



be performing. The spectacle which is 
then presented by this orchestra of imagin- 
ary musicians, all playing with yim, is 
irresistibly ludicrous, and renders the 
gravity which is prescribed on pain of for- 
feit a sheer impossibility. In the middle 
of the circle the conductor takes his post, 
a-straddle on a chair with the back before 
him, in such a manner as to figure a desk 
on which he beats time. 

He may get himself up after the simili- 
tude of the great Monsieur Jullien, whose 
attitudes and gestures, at the most excited 
pitch of his last "Universal Smash" 
polka, may be adopted as a model, but will 
need no exaggeration to be made as amus- 
ing as those of the orchestra he directs. 
In the midst of the indescribable confusion 
of sounds over which he presides, the con- 
ductor suddenly singles out one of the 
performers, and asks him why he is at 
fault. 

The individual so addressed must at 
once, and without a moment's hesitation, 
give some answer corresponding to the 
nature of the instrument ; for instance, the 
the fiddler may say his bow wanted rosin, 
the harp player that one of his strings 
had broken, the clarionet player that 
his instrument was broken-winded. Any 
failure to do this, or any repetition of an 
excuse previously given, will necessitate a 
forfeit. This game in some respect is 
similar to the Comic Concert^ and should 
not be played in a very quiet family. 

POKER AND TONGS: OR, HOT 
BOILED BEANS. 

This is decidedly about as noisy a game 
as can well be imagined, but it also has 
the merit of being equally simple. Some 
small article is to be hidden, the party 
whose business it is to discover it, being 
sent out of the room while that is being 



done. Another of the players now takes 
a pair of tongs in one hand, and a poker 
in the other. The seeker of the hidden 
treasure is then called in, and begins to 
hunt for the concealed article. While he 
is at a distance from the spot where it has 
been placed, the poker, which is held 
between the legs of the tongs, is made to 
strike them alternately with a slow motion, 
so as to produce a kind of melancholy 
music. But as he approaches the con- 
cealed treasure, the music becomes more 
lively, and as he recedes from it more slow 
and solemn ; but when his hand is placed 
on the spot where the article is to be found, 
the musician plays a loud and noisy tune 
on his uncouth instrument. In cases 
where the rough music produced by the 
poker and tongs is offensive to the ears of 
invalids or others, the progress of the 
player in his search may be announced by 
assuring him that he is "very cold," 
"rather warmer," "very hot," or " burn- 
ing his fingers, " as he approaches or recedes 
from the hidden object. This game is 
sometimes called Magic Music. 

THE AOROSTIO SALE. 

This is an excellent game for young 
persons, stimulating their inventive talents, 
and is a good exercise in spelling. The 
person who opens the game announces 
that he has just returned from the city, 
where he purchased an article, which he 
names, the name containing just as many 
letters as the number of the company 
assembled to play the game. He further 
states, that he is willing to barter the arti- 
cle for as many others articles as the com- 
pany, excluding himself, number ; but the 
initial letter of each article offered must 
be in regular succession the letters com- 
posing the article bartered. 

Furnished with a pencil and paper, the 



30 



PARLOR GAMES. 



seller notes down the ofifers of the buyers, 
and, when correctly completed, he reads 
them aloud ; and, in an affected, pompous 
manner, though quite impyomphi^ declares 
what he intends to do with the articles 
thus acquired. For example, in a com- 
pany composed of eleven persons, the 
seller says : 

"I have just returned from the city 
where I purchased a pianoforte, but I wish 
to barter it — speaking to the first person — 
what will you give me for the fij-st letter, 
P? '' The first person and the other nine, 
make consecutively their offers, and the 
seller carefully records them, after which 
he says : 

'' You propose to barter for my 



P a Pen. 
I an Inkbottle. 
A an Anchor. 
N a Newspaper. 
O an Orchard. 



F a Fan. 
O an Oar. 
R a Ruby. 
T a Teacup. 
E an Evergreen. 



' ' I accept the offer, and this is the way 
I intend to use the articles so acquired. 

"The Ruby I will have mounted in a 
ring, and will ever treasure it in remem- 
brance of the donor. The Fan I will pre- 
sent to a certain lady, who, at present, 
shall be nameless. Then I will ride into 
the country, where, sitting in my Orchard^ 
I will read my Newspaper^ and with my Pen 
and Inkbottle^ write letters to you, my dear 
friends, from whose agreeable society I shall 
then be absent. When tired of writing, I 
will proceed to the river, where, with my 
Oar^ I will row on the water till evening, 
then Anchor \\\^ boat ; and, after taking tea 
from my Teacup^ will go into the garden, 
and superintend the planting of my Ever- 
green.^'' 

This relation being terminated, the ten 
other players become the sellers of various 
articles in the same manner. Forfeits are 



levied when articles are offered for sale 
containing more or less letters than the 
number of purchasers, or for any error in 
the spelling of the articles offered in 
exchange. 

FLORA'S BOUQUET 

Each player chooses three flowers, hav- 
ing a well-known signification, either com- 
plimentary or uncomplimentary, to suit 
the person for whom he secretly designs 
them ; he binds them together, deposits 
the bouquet in a vase, writes upon the vase 
a motto, and sends it to the person whom 
he intends it for. 

EXAMPLE. 

A young lady who is annoyed by the 
importunities of a disagreeable admirer, 
expresses herself thus : 

" I choose a Poppy ^ a Pink^ and a Thistle. 

*' The Poppy is a symbol of the weari- 
someness which leads to sleep, the Pink is 
that of self-conceit, and the Thistle is that 
of the wreath which self-conceit merits. - - 

"To tie this bouquet, I take a piece of 
ribbon-grass. 

" I place it in a vase of the commonest 
earth. 

"I write upon the vase: 'Praise be 
according to merit.' 

" I address the whole to Mr. , and 

spare him the trouble of thanking me." 

A young man composes his bouquet in 
the following manner : 

' ' I choose a Rose^ a Pansy and a Lily of 
the Valley. 

"The Rose is the symbol of beauty, the 
Pansy that of wit, and the Lily of the Valley 
that of virgin simplicity. 

"I tie this bouquet with a piece of ivy, 
symbolical of my constancy. 

" I place it in a vase of gold, upon which 
I write : ' To Beauty, adorned by Virtue.' 

"And I present it to Miss ." 



PARLOR GAMES. 



in 



THE SORCERER BEHIND THE 
SCREEN. 

The players conceal behind a screen, or 
behind the door of an adjacent chamber, 
the one of their number from whom they 
wish to obtain forfeits. The rest of the 
company place themselves out of his sight, 
and the one who leads the game calls out 
to him — 

"Are you there? Are you ready?" 
"Yes, begin!" — "Do you know Miss 

?" (naming one of the ladies of the 

company.) '*Yes." — "Do you know her 
dress?" " Yes/'— " Her shawl ?" "Yes." 
— "Do you know her slippers?" " Yes." 
—"Her collar?" "Yes."— '* Her gloves?" 
"Yes."— "And her ring?" " Yes."— 
"You know then everything that she 
wears ;" " Yes."—" Her belt?" " Yes." 
—"Her fan?" ''Yes." 

The questioner adds as many articles of 
dress as he pleases, or changes them at his 
pleasure. The other always answers, 
"Yes." "Since you know her so well, 
tell me what article of her dress I touch?" 

If the sorcerer has not been let into the 
secret before the commencement of the 
game, he, of course, names a number of 
articles before he hits upon the right one, 
and he pays a forfeit for every mistake he 
commits ; he pays a forfeit also when he 
names an article which the questioner has 
not mentioned. 

If acquainted with the game he would 
say, "You touch Miss 's ring," be- 
cause this is the only article before which 
the questioner has placed the conjunction 
'''• and^''^ which is the word of recognition 
to the sorcerer instructed in the game. 

When any of the players acquainted 
with the game wish to impose upon one of 
their number, previous to selecting him 
they choose two or three sorcerers, who 
know the game. The latter feign to mis- 



take once or twice to excite no suspicion, 
and as soon as the last one of them has 
guessed rightly (which he could have done 
at first if he had chosen), he names as his 
successor the poor dupe at whose expense 
they have previously agreed to amuse 
themselves. 

THE BOUQUET. 

Each player in his turn supposes himself 
a bouquet, composed of three different flow- 
ers. Each one must name aloud to the 
leader of the game the three flowers of 
which he considers himself composed. 

The leader of the game writes down the 
names of the three flowers, and adds to 
what he has written, without informing 
the other, the names of any three persons 
of the company he may choose. 

He then asks the player to what use he 
intends to put the three flowers he has 
chosen. The player tells him to what use 
he intends to put them, and the leader of 
the game applies it to the three persons 
that he has written down. 
EXAMPLE. 

The Leader of the Game. Miss 
Julia choose your three flowers. 

Julia. The Marigold, the Bachelor's 
Button, and the Rose. 

The Leader. I have written them 
down. Now what will you do with your 
Marigold ? 

Julia. I will throw it over my shoulder. 

The Leader. And the Bachelor's But- 
ton? 

Julia. I will put it in my window. 

The Leader. And the Rose? 

Julia. I will put it on the mantle-piece. 

The Leader. Very well, you have 
thrown Adolphus over your shoulder, you 
have put Miss Maria at your window, and 
adorned your mantle-piece with Charles. 
And now, Mr. Adolphus, it is your turn to 
speak. Choose your three flowers. 



32 



PARLOR GAMES. 



THE KNIGHT OF THE WHISTLE. 

This, though a very simple game, is one 
of the most amusing we have ever seen. 
The person who is to be made the Knight 
of the Whistle, nmst not have seen the 
game before. He should be asked if he 
lias ever been made a Knight of the 
Whistle? If he answers "No !" his con- 
sent must be asked, and he must then be 
told to kneel down to receive the knight- 
hood. Some one must then sit down, and 
the knight kneeling, rests his head in the 
lap of the person who is sitting, and all 
the persons gather around and pat gently 
on his back, while they repeat these words : 

Here we unite 

With fond delight, 
The TuHp, Lily, and the Thistle. 

And with due state, 

We now create — 
The one who kneels Knight of the Whistle ! 

A whistle and a piece of string, some 
twelve or fourteen inches long, should 
have been previously prepared, and while 
the person has been kneeling down, it 
should be fastened to his back, by the 
button on his coat, or by the aid of a pin. 

This done, he should be told to listen to 
the sound of the whistle, that he may 
know it again. Some one should then 
sound the whistle, and when the knight 
has confessed that he should know the 
sound again, he is told to stand up, and 
the company form a circle all around him. 

Then the fun consists of some one 
behind his back catching the whistle (with- 
out pulling at the string), and sounding it 
— dropping the whistle the instant it has 
sounded. The knight (having been pre- 
viously told that he is to catch the whistle) 
will jump round, and will probably seize 
hold of the hands of the person who 
sounded it, but at the same moment he 



will have unconciously conveyed the whis- 
tle to those on the opposite side. 

And thus, the more anxious the knight 
gets, the more he embarrasses himself, 
because, at ever}^ turn, he conveys the 
whistle to some one behind him. This 
creates very good laughter. 

[Care should be taken not to have the 
string too long, or when the knight turns, 
the whistle will fly to the front of him, 
and he will discover the trick. A very 
small toy whistle, and one that is easily 
sounded will be the best. But a small key 
will do, when no better can be had. Those 
who form the ring, should occasionally pre- 
tend to be passing the whistle from hand 
to hand. This game cannot be played 
more than once of an evening, unless a 
visitor may happen to enter, and who has 
not seen it. Ladies, as well as gentlemen, 
may be made knights.] 

THE FOOL'S DISCOURSE. 

This game has a great resemblance to 
that of Cross Questions^ inasmuch as each 
one of the company gives a sentence to his 
neighbor, while the one whose office it is 
to ask the questions stands a little apart, 
so as not to hear it. 

When ^11 the sentences are given the 
leader of the game approaches, and ad- 
dresses to each player a particular ques- 
tion, to which the latter answers by pro- 
nouncing quickly the sentence which he 
has received. Many amusing singularities 
and inconsistencies are the result. 

This game presents no other difficulty 
than that of knowing how to put the ques- 
tions skillfully, and to vary them in such a 
manner that they may suit all sorts of 
answers. 

Let us suppose that the persons who 
compose the company have each received 
a question, and that Edward, the ques- 



PARLOR GAMES. 



33 



tioner, asks the question, — "Do you ride 
out often ? ' ' 

Emily. Upon a chair. 

Edward. Do you love reading ? 

Emma. With a little sauce. 

Edward. Have you good friends ? 

AdoIvPHUS. One at a time. 

Edward. Do you like dancing? 

Virginia. In a church. 

Etc, etc. 

COMPLIMENTS. 

A circle is formed ; a gentleman and lady 
sitting alternately. Politeness demands 
that the game should be commenced by a 
lady. 

" I should like, she says, '* to be such or 
such an animaiy (The more abject or dis- 
gusting this animal is, the more difficult is 
it to invent the compliment which the lady 
has the right to expect.) 

Suppose, for example, she has chosen the 
hornet. She inquires of her left-hand 
neighbor if he knows why she has made 
so strange a choice. 

The latter, who is not expected to pay 
her a compliment, replies simply, from the 
well-known nature of the animal, "Be- 
cause you wish that all living beings should 
avoid the place where you have chosen 
your abode." 

The lady inquires of her right-hand 
neighbor, * * What advantage would I find 
in this transformation?" 

Answer, That of escaping from a crowd 
of admirers whom your modesty makes 
you look upon as importunate. 

If the gentleman first addressed pays 
the lady a compliment, or if the second 
fails to do so, both pay a forfeit. 

Then it becomes the turn of him who 
pays the compliment to form a wish. 

He expresses, for example, a desire to be 
a goose. Then he asks the lady, whom he 
3 



has just complimented if she can divine 
what can be his motive? ''It is," she 
replies, ''that you may inhabit indiffer- 
ently either the land or the water.' ' Then 
addressing himself to the lady on his right 
hand, he says : "What advantage would 
I find in such a metamorphosis ? " "The 
hope so dear to your heart of one day 
saving your country, as the geese of the 
capitol once saved Rome." 

One round is enough at this game, 
because nothing is more tiresome than 
compliments, when prolonged, however 
much they may be merited. It is neces- 
sary, however, to complete the entire 
round, in order to deprive no one of his or 
her turn, as the little part each plays is 
always flattering to the vanity, even of 
those among the company the least suscep- 
tible of it. 

THE THREE KINGDOMS. 

The player who has proposed the game 
withdraws into an adjoining chamber, 
while the rest of the company agree upon 
an object that he must guess. 

When the word is agreed upon they 
recall him ; he has the right to ask twelve 
questions, which refer at first to the king- 
dom to which the object belongs that is 
expressed by the word selected, upon the 
present condition of this object, the 
country where it is most frequently found, 
and, finally, upon the metamorphosis 
which it has undergone, its use, and its 
qualities. 

The players should answer in a manner 
calculated to describe the object, yet not 
too plainly. But, on the other hand, 
those who give false notions of the object 
are liable to the penalty of a forfeit. The 
questioner who, after twelve answers which 
are recognized as satisfactory by the com 
pany, fails to guess the object, pays a for- 



84 



PARLOR GAMES. 



feit in his turn, and withdraws a second 
time, while the rest of the players agree 
upon another word, which he must try to 
guess iu the same manner. 

EXAMPLE. 

The questioner, having heard the signal, 
re-enters, and directs his questions some- 
what in this manner : 

I. ''To what kingdom does the object 
thought of belong ? '* 

One of the players answers: ''To the 
Vegetable Kingdom^ and no other." 

I. "Is it growing at present, or put to 
use?'* 

"Put to use." 

3. "Is it an article of furniture?" 
"No." 

4. "What use is it commonly put to?" 
"It is commonly covered, at regular 

intervals, with a fluid of a color completely 
opposite to its own." 

5. "In what places is it most commonly 
produced? " 

" In New England, New York, and New 
Jersey. 

6. "Ah, I know that it is not linen, for 
neither of these states is celebrated for that 
article." 

"No, but linen has something to do 
with it." 

7. " What metamorphosis has it under- 
gone?" 

"A very great one. It has been cast 
into the water, beaten, crushed, reduced to 
pulp, then reunited into a solid body, such 
as we see it every day." 

8. "It \s Paper, then?" 
"You have gussed it." 

The player whose answer leads the 
questioner to guess the riddle, then pays a 
forfeit, and becomes the questioner in his 
turn. 

Let us suppose that he is endeavoring to 



divine the object next thought of, he begins 
with the same question as his predecessor. 

1. "To what kingdom does it belong? " 
"To the three kingdoms." 

2. " Is it put to use, then ? " 
"Yes." 

3. "Is it an article of furniture? " 
"Portable furniture." 

4. "What is its ordinary use?" 
" To guard against dampness." 

One of the players here makes the obser- 
vation that this reply is not exact, and that 
the respondent owes a forfeit. 

The latter replies : ' ' Why, if I said that 
it shielded from the rain, he would guess 
it without difficulty." 

The questioner replies hastily, " It is an 
umbrella?'* 

"There ! I could not save my forfeit ; 
it is very annoying." 

" Go — go into the next room ; it is your 
turn to guess." 

The umbrella, in truth, belongs to the 
animal kingdom, by its silk covering and 
its whalebone frame ; to the mineral king- 
dom by its fastenings of copper and of 
steel wire, and to the vegetable kingdom by 
its handle of what wood soever it may be 
made. 

Paper made of old rags is of the vege- 
table kingdom purely, since the linen is 
made of hemp or flax, and muslin and' 
calico are made of cotton, which belong to 
the vegetable kingdom. 

[There are three kingdoms in nature, to 
wit : The Animal Khtgdom — which compre- 
hends everything that has life and move- 
ment, and everything that has formed part 
of an animated being, such as horn, ivory, 
skin, hair, wool, silk, etc., etc. 

The Vegetable Kingdom, which includes 
trees, plants, flowers, leaves, fruit, bark, in 
a word, all that the earth produces which 
has life without movement. 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



35 



The Mineral Kingdom^ which includes 
everything that has neither life nor move- 
ment, as stones, diamonds, etc. 

An object may belong to two or even 
the three kingdoms at once. A shoe, for 
instance, belongs to the animal kingdom 
by the leather and the skin of which it is 
composed, to the vegetable kingdom by the 
thread with which it is sewed, and to the 
mineral kingdom, if it is furnished with 
nails. 

It is necessary, therefore, before selecting 
a word, to enumerate its different parts, 
which may connect it with one or more of 
the three kingdoms.] 

THE NARRATIVE. 

In this game, as in that of "The 
Secretary,*' all present must range them- 
selves around a table, but instead of the 
square pieces of paper distributed to each 
person, as is necessary when a continued 
narrative is required, a single sheet of 
paper is sufficient for all the company. 

The players agree aloud as to the title 
of the narrative ; then the leader of the 
game commences the story by writing two 
or three lines, as well as the first word of 
the following line. He then folds down 
the paper above his first word, which he 
shows to the player who is to follow him. 
This word serves as a hint to the continu- 
ation of the narrative, with which the 
second player is to proceed, and so on^ 
until the story is thought to be sufficiently 
complicated. 

EXAMPI.E. 
In a company composed of nine persons, 
four ladies, (Kdith, Julia, lyconora, and 
Caroline,) and five young gentlemen, 
(Augustus, Henry, Frank, Charles, and 
Edward), all seated around a table, Edward 
proposed a game of "The Narrative," and 



gives aloud for its title, ** The fortunate and 
unfortunate adventures of Miss Palmer,'*'^ 

This is all that is requisite for the com- 
pany to know. Then he writes secretly 
his two lines, and places at the beginning 
of the third line the word which is to 
serve as a cue for his right-hand neighbor • 
he then folds the paper so that only the 
last word can be seen, and passes it to 
Caroline who pursues the same course. 

The following is an example of the in- 
coherent sentences thus strung together; 
at the head of each we place the name of 
the person who is supposed to have written 
them, while we write in italics the only 
words of the narrative which the next 
player is allowed to see. 

THE FORTUNATE AND UNFORTUNATE 
ADVENTURES OF MISS PAI.MER. 

Edward. In a country which the geog- 
raphers have neglected to inscribe upon 
the map, lived young Miss Palmer, and I 
will now write her history. 

Caroline. It can be nothing but a 
tissue of falsehoods ; but we shall judge 
of that when we come to the reading. 

Frank. It was her favorite amusement, 
and her choice ill-directed, soon gave her 
a turn for the roma^ttic. 

Julia. Miss Palmer dreamed of nothing 
but elopements, spectres, subterranean 
dungeons, turrets, and mysterious brigands. 

Augustus. Carried off by this band of 
ruffians, she lived confined in a gloomy 
dungeon, with bread and water for her 
only nourishment. 

IvEONORA. What care she took to fur- 
nish it abundantly to the poor ! Her char- 
ity was to her an unbounded source of 
innocent pleasures. 

Henry. After immoderate indulgence 
in them, on leaving the ball, the wheel of 



36 



PARLOR GAMES. 



the carriage became entangled in that of 
a szvill cart. 

Charles. Reduced to the necessity of 
emptying her own swill ! What a sad lot 
for a person of her condition ! 

Edith. The one imposed upon her 
seemed very hard, and she would have 
preferred death to the necessity of taking 
such a husband, 

SECOND ROUND. 

Edward. At last she is married. May 
she live happily in the bosom Qi\\QX family. 

Caroline. Her own was a singular 
mixture ; not one of them but had a hump 
back or a W7'y neck. 

Frank. The pain she suffered from it 
was excruciating. To get rid of it she was 
obliged to tie around her neck one of her 
woollen stockings. 

Julia. Add to that a pair of wooden 
shoes, which produced corns, and when she 
walked almost put her ankle out of joint. 

Augustus. But she made a stout resist- 
ance, giving her rival a box with a five- 
leaved clover. 

Leonora. Already it commenced to 
wither and droop, and the mourning of 
Nature accorded with the sadness of her 
heart. 

Henry. Yes, it was her favorite dish, 
every day Miss Palmer had a plate of it 
served up before her, until the day that 
saw her descend into the tomb. 

Charles. All is over, then ; she has 
succumbed to her fate. I see, in imagina- 
tion, the finest procession. 

Edith. All the city was crowded into 
the square, to hear the music and the 
musketry. 

The whole is then read, and the mixture 
of so many ideas, ridiculously put together, 
almost always produces recitals that are 
extremely comical. 



THE TRAVELER'S TOUR. 

This game may be played by any num- 
ber of persons. 

One of the party announces himself the 
Traveler, and about to take a little tour. 
He calls upon any of the party for inform- 
ation respecting the objects of the greatest 
interest to be noticed in the different towns 
and villages through which he intends 
passing. 

He is given an empty bag, and to each 
of the persons joining in the game are 
distributed sets of counters with numbers 
on. Thus, if twelve persons were playing, 
the counters required would be up to num- 
ber twelve, and a set of ones would be 
given to the first person, twos to the second, 
threes to the third, and so on. 

When the Traveler announces the name 
of the place he intends stopping at, the 
first person is at liberty to give any inform- 
ation, or make any remark respecting it ; if 
he cannot do so, the second person has the 
chance, or the third, or it passes on until 
some one is able to speak concerning it. 
If the Traveler considers it correct in form- 
ation, or worthy of notice, he takes from 
the person one of his counters, as a pledge 
of the obligation he is under to him. 

The next person in order to the one who 
spoke last is to proceed, so as not each 
time to begin with number one. If no 
one of the party speaks, the Traveler may 
consider there is nothing worthy of notice 
at the place he has announced, and he 
then passes on to another. 

After he has reached his destination, he 
turns out his bag to see which of the party 
has given him the greatest amount of 
information, and that person is considered 
to have won the game, and is entitled to 
be the Traveler in the next game. 

If it should happen that two or more 
persons should have given the same num- 




I 



4C3'' 



^ 









PARLOR GAMES. 



37 



ber of counters, those persons are to be 
allowed in succession to continue to assist 
the Traveler and deposit their pledges, 
until one alone remains. 

EXAMPLE OF THE GAME. 

Traveler. I intend to take a little 
excursion this summer, and shall soon 
start from New York for Niagara ; but as 
I wish to stop at several places, I shall 
travel slowly. My route will be by steam- 
boat up the Hudson to Albany, thence 
through the centre of the state to the 
Falls. 

Number One. Soon after leaving New 
York city you come to the Palisades, 
which form one of the first objects of 
interest in your route. 

The noble river is then walled in for 
thirty miles by high precipitous rocks, 
upon whose summits imagination has but 
to place some ruined castles to suggest 
olden memories, and the inferiority of the 
scenery of the vaunted Rhine to that of the 
Hudson must be confessed. 

Traveler. Thank you for this infor- 
mation ; pray deposit a counter in my bag, 
that I may remember to whom I owe it. I 
propose to stop at Tarrytown. 

Number Two and Three not answer- 
ing, 

Number Four. Pray visit the spot of 
Andrd's arrest. After the final arrange- 
ments with Arnold in regard to the betrayal 
of West Point were made, Andre proceeded 
on horseback to New York, and when he 
reached this spot supposed himself to be 
within the British lines, and thus secure 
from danger. Here he was stopped by 
three soldiers, whose names will ever be 
held in remembrance — Paulding, Williams 
and Van Wart. Instead of showing his 
passport, he inquired whence they came, 
and receiving for answer ''from below," 



he responded "So do I,'* showing at the 
same time his uniform as a British officer. 
' ' We arrest you as an enemy to our coun- 
try," replied these soldiers; and resisting 
all his attempts at bribery, they led him 
captive to the head-quarters of the Ameri- 
can general. His sad fate is well known. 
Hung as a spy near this place, his remains 
were left here a few years, but are deposited 
among England's illustrious dead in West- 
minster Abbey. Number Four deposits a 
counter. 

Number Seven. The Hudson is rich 
in revolutionary reminiscences. A short 
distance from Tarrytown, on the opposite 
shore, you will reach Stony Point, the 
scene of Mad Anthony Wayne's daring ex- 
ploit in 1779, when, without firing a single 
gun, the fort here situated was surprised 
and taken by assault, forming one of the 
most brilliant exploits achieved during the 
war. A counter of Number Seven is put 
into the bag. 

Traveler. I cannot stop long here, 
but must proceed with my journey. Where 
shall I stop next ? 

Number Nine. You pass then at once 
into the Highlands. Here the Hudson 
has burst its way at some distant period 
through the mountains, leaving on each 
side a rampart of almost perpendicular 
hills of from six hundred to seventeen 
hundred feet above the level of the river. 
Most prominent among them are the Dun- 
derberg, Anthony's Nose, and Butter Hill. 
Number Nine deposits a counter. 

Number Twelve. In the bosom of the 
Highlands you will find West Point, which 
is unquestionably the most romantic spot 
on the river. The village is placed upon 
the top of a promontory one hundred and 
eighty-eight feet above the river, where 
there is spread out a level plateau or ter- 
race more than one mile in circumference. 



38 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Number Twelve puts a counter into the 
bag. 

Traveler. Can you give me any other 
information ? 

Number Two. West Point is the seat 
of the United States Military Academy, 
established in 1812 ; the land was ceded to 
the United States by New York, in 1826. 
Number Two deposits a counter. 

Number Six. It is famous as the scene 
of Arnold's treason. During the Revolu- 
tion this post was considered the key of 
the Hudson, and a heavy chain was here 
stretched from shore to shore. The British 
were very anxious to obtain possession of 
this place, which they would have done 
had Arnold's treason succeeded. Number 
Six hands the Traveler a counter. 

Traveler. Are there more ol)jects of 
interest on the river? 

Number Eight. Notice the Catskill 
Mountains, which present a very abrupt 
front to the river and run nearly parallel to 
it for twenty miles. The views from the 
Mountain House are grand and majestic — 
up and down the Hudson one can see for 
seventy miles either way — and the Fall of 
the Katers Kill, three miles from the 
House, is exceedingly beautiful. Number 
Eight deposits a counter. 

Traveler. My time will not permit 
me to visit all objects and places of inter- 
est ; the principal ones must content me ; 
my next resting-place will be Albany. 

Number Three. You will find Albany 
pleasantly situated. From the top of the 
capitol, which is built on a hill, the view 
is very fine. You will find all the public 
State buildings worthy a visit, as well as 
those for educational and literary purposes, 
Albany being distinguished for these last. 
Number Three deposits a counter. 

Traveler. I shall no doubt find pleas- 
ure in visiting them, but after leaving Al- 



bany I shall be obliged to hasten, taking 
the cars from there as the most expeditious 
way. Shall I stop at Schenectady ? 

No one replies, so the Traveler consideit, 
there is nothing peculiarly interesting 
there, and proceeds to another place, ask- 
ing — ''Where would you advise me to 
stop?" 

Number Five. The beauty of Trenton 
Falls is well and widely celebrated Stop- 
ping at Utica, you will have a slight detour 
of sixteen miles to make in order to reach 
them, but you will be fully compensated 
for the trouble. Number Five deposits a 
counter. 

Number Nine. When again on your 
route, do not fail to stop at Syracuse, at 
which place, in connection with the village 
of Salina, a few miles distant, you will find 
the most extensive salt manufactories in 
the United States. Salt is obtained from 
the various salt-springs here abundant, in 
several ways, by boiling, evaporation, etc. , 
— and the processes are exceedingly inter- 
esting. Number Nine hands a counter. 

Traveler. Shall I find more objects 
of interest here ? 

Number Eleven. Syracuse is situated 
on Onondaga I^ake. In the central part 
of this State lie a cluster of lakes of which 
this is one, all remarkable for beautiful 
scenery. The tourist for pleasure will 
not regret the time spent among them. 
Number Eleven deposits a counter. 

Traveler. I am much indebted to 
my friends for the information I have 
received ; which one will give me an 
account of my place of destination. 

Number Nine. On the western border 
of the State, in a river or strait of thirty- 
four miles in length, running from Lake 
Erie to Lake Ontario, and pouring the 
waters of the Great Lakes over a preci- 
pice of one hundred and sixty-five feet in 



PARLOR GAMES. 



89 



perpendicular height, thunders the far- 
famed and unrivalled cataract of Niagara, 
in whose presence all stand dumb with no 
power to describe, but only to wonder and 
adore. About three miles below its com- 
mencement the river divides into two 
arms, which embrace an island called 
Grand Island, twelve miles long and from 
two to seven wide. Nearly three miles 
below Grand Island the Rapids com- 
mence, and after a course of rather more 
than half a mile, terminate in the Great 
Cataract. Goat Island, a quarter of a mile 
wide and half a mile long, extends to the 
very brow of the precipice, and divides 
the Falls into two portions, the higher of 
which is on the American side, but the 
greatest body of water is on the Canadian. 
The American Fall is again subdivided 
veiy unequally by Iris Island, with the 
ofreater of these subdivisions nearest the 
New York shore. Of the grandeur and 
sublimity of this scene, and of the emotions 
with which it fills the soul, I am utterly 
unable to speak. 

The Traveler having reached his place 
of destination, examines his bag, and find- 
ing that Number Nine has deposited the 
most counters, he is considered to have 
won the game and is entitled to be the 
Traveler in the next game. 

THE RHYMING GAME. 

One person thinks of a word, and gives 
a word that will rhyme with it ; the 
players, while endeavoring to guess the 
word, think of those that will rhyme with 
the one given, and instead of speaking, 
define them ; then the first person must be 
quick in guessing what is meant by the 
description and answers, if it is right or 
UG, giving the definition to the question. 
Here are two examples : 

*' I have a word that rhymes with bun." 



"Is it what many people call great sport 
or merriment?" 

"No, it is not fun." 

" Is it a troublesome creditor? ** 

'^ No, it is not a dun." 

" Is it a kind of fire-arm ? " 

" No, it is not a gun." 

"Is it a religious woman who lives in 
retirement? " 

"No, it is not a nun." 

" Is it the act of moving very swiftly, or 
what one does when in great haste? " 

"No, it's not to run." 

"Is it a quibble, or play upon words?" 

" No, it is not a pun." 

" Is it a word that we often use to denote 
that a thing is finished ?" 

"No, it is not done." 

" Is it a weight ? " 

" No, it is not a ton." 

" Well is it that luminary that shines by 
day, and brightens everything it shines 
upon ? ' ' 

''Yes, it is the sun." 

The one who guessed the word will then, 
perhaps, say : 

" I've thought of a word that rhymes 
with sane." 

" Is it a native of Denmark ? " 

''No, it is not a Dane?" 

" Is it used by old gentlemen ? " 

*' No, it is not a cane." 

"Is it what is meant when we say we 
would be glad to do so and so ? " 

"No, it is not fain." 

''Is it what we all sufi^er when in great 
distress ?" 

" No, it is not pain." 

" Is it a Christian name ? " 

"No, it is not Jane." 

" Is it to obtain by success, to win?" 

" No, it is not to gain.'* 



40 



PARLOR GAMES. 



*' Is it the hair that grows on the neck 
of animals?" 

" No, it is not the mane/' 

** Is it a very narrow way or passage ? " 

"No, it is not a lane." 

" Is it that which causes so many disap- 
pointments to the young? " 

*' No, it is not rain.'' 

*' Is it a square glass ? " 

** No, it is not a pain." 

** Is it to be proud of one's own accom- 
plishments?" 

" No, it is not vain." 

** Is it the first in importance; or the 
ocean ? " 

'* No, it is not the main." 

* ' Is it another name for poison ? '^ 

** No, it is not bane." 

* ' Is it that object which is placed on the 
top of spires and is moved by the wind ? " 

*' Yes, it is a vane." 

PROVERBS. 

This game is a trial of skill between one 
player and all the rest ; on his side to dis- 
cover a secret — on theirs, to prevent or 
render difficult its discovery. 

One of the company having left the 
room, the rest select some proverb in his 
absence. On his re-admittance, he must 
ask random questions of all the party in 
turn, who, in their replies, must bring in 
the words of the proverb in succession. 
The first person who is addressed will 
introduce the first word of the proverb in 
the answer, the second person, the second 
word ; and so on until the proverb is 
exhausted. For instance, " Honesty is the 
best policy," is the one selected, and sup- 
pose the first question to be, 

" Have you been out to-day ? " the party 
questioned might say, 

"Yes, I have, and very nearly lost my 
purse ; but it was picked up by a boy who 



ran after me with it, and whose 'honesty* 
I was very glad to reward." 

He then passes on to the next and says, 
*' Were you in the country last summer?" 

''Yes, in a most lovely place, where it 
'is' very mountainous." 

To the next one he asks, " Are you fond 
of reading ? ' ' 

"Oh, yes, it is one of 'the' sweetest 
pleasures." 

To another, "Which do you prefer, 
summer or winter ? " 

" Both are so delightful, that I do not 
know which I like ' best.' " 

To the last, " Can you tell me if there 
are any more words in this proverb ! " 

" I will give you the last word, but 1 
would show greater ' policy ' if I refused 
to answer you." 

The person must then guess it or forfeit, 
and the one whose answer first gave him 
the idea must take his turn of being 
guessen If any are unable to bring in 
their word, they must likewise pay a forfeit. 
It is an extremely amusing game, from 
the laughable way in which some of the 
words are necessarily introduced. 

The proverb should be a familiar one, 
and care should be taken to speak the 
word of the proverb as distinctly as the 
others, but not to emphasize it. 

THE LITTLE FORTUNE TELLER. 

This game is played by any number of 
persons, and is productive of much amuse- 
ment. Make a board after the following 
pattern, — a square of eleven with the fig- 
ure one for the centre. The person who 
wishes to try his fortune must place his 
finger on the board without looking at it ; 
then refer to the list for the number 
marked on the square touched, and you 
will obtain an answer, which, like those 
given by professed fortune-tellers, will 



PARLOR GAMES. 



41 



cfteii prove false or ridiculous; as, for 

^lstanc \ Y/hen a married lady is told that 

le longs to be married (84), or a child of 

■\-€ii is ill formed that he will be married 

•s year (89) ; but it is a very amusing 

game notwithstanding. 



117 
116 
115 
114 
113 
112 
111 
110 
109 
108 
107 


118 
78 
77 
75 
75 
74 
73 
72 
71 
70 
106 


119 
79 
47 
46 
45 
44 
43 
42 
41 
69 
105 


120 


121. 


82 


83 


84 


85 


86 


87 


80 
48 
24 
23 
22 
21 
20 
40 
68 
104 


81 

49 

.25 

9 

8 

7 

19 
39 
67 
103 


50 
'26. 
10 
2- 
1 
6 
18 
38 
66 
102 


51 

27 
• 11 

3 

4 

5 

17 
.37 

65 
101 


52 
28 
12 
13 
14 
15 
16 
36 
64 
100 


63 
29 
30 
31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
63 
99 


54 
55 
56 

57 
58 
59 
60 
61 
62 
98 


88 
89 
90 
91 
92 
93 
94 
95 
96 
97 



ANSWERS TO FORTUNE-TELI.ER. 

1. A life full of changes — die rich. 

2. Barly marriage and prosperous. 

3. Many lovers, but die single. 

4. A speedy journey of great import- 

ance. 

5. Become rich through a legacy. 

6. Hours of pleasure, years of care. 

7. Your present lover is false. 

8. You will marry your present choice. 

9. Wed thrice, and die in widowhood. 

10. You will travel over land and sea. 

11. If not already wed, you never will 

be. 

12. Gaming will be your ruin. 

13. You will be very happy in marriage. 

14. You will change your love soon. 

15. A long life and prosperous. 

16. A rival will cause you tears. . 

17. Beware of a false friend. 

18. Fate decrees you two partners. 



19. A large family of prosperous chil- 

dren. 

20. You will not wed your present lover. 

21. You will soon fall desperately in 

love. 

22. You will soon be in mourning. 

23. You will gain an estate by industry. 

24. You will better yourself by marriage. 

25. You will soon lose by fraud. 

26. You will marry an ill-tempered per- 

son. 
2^, A sudden rise attends you. 

28. You will see an absent lover. 

29. Many enemies, but finally triumph. 

30. A bad partner, but happy reforma- 

tion. 

3 1 . A speedy proposal of marriage. 

32. A present, and a new lover. 

33. Invitation to a gay party. 

34. A serious quarrel. 

35. A disgraceful intrigue. 

36. A run of ill luck. 

37. Gifts of money. 

38. A good partner in marriage. 

39. You will become rich. 

40. Money through love. 

41. Cash by trade. 

42. A long journey. 

43. Important news soon. - 

44. Mind what you say to a lover. 

45. A present from a distance. ^ 

46. A dispute with one you love. 

47. Visit from a distant friend. 

48. A law suit. 

49. Advancement in life. 

50. Love at first sight. 

5 1 . A prize worth having. 

52. Wealth, dignity, honor. 

53. Visit to a foreign land. 

54. Profit by industry. 

55. A multitude of cards. 

56. Preferment through a friend. 

57. Second partner better than first. 

58. Surmount many difficulties. 



42 



PARLOR GAMES. 



59. A false friend. 

60. A pleasing surprise. 

61. A change in your affairs. 

62. A ramble by moonlight. 

63. Injured by scandal. 

64. Unpleasant tidings. 

65. Great loss and disappointment. 

66. About to attend a christening. 

67. Change of situation. 

6S. A handsome present soon. 

69. An invitation to a marriage. 

70. News from sea. 

71. Happiness or marriage. 

72. Pleasant intelligence from abroad. 
73. . An agreeable partner. 

74. You are in love, though you won't 

allow it. 

75. A quarrel with your intended. 

76. Disappointment in love. 

7y. You will fall in love with one who 
is already engaged. 

78. You will inherit an estate shortly. 

79. An unexpected death. 

80. You meditate an elopement. 

81. A dangerous illness. 

82. Crosses and disappointment await 

you. 

83. You have three strings to your bow. 

84. You long to be married. 

85. Your intended is in the sere and 

yellow leaf. 

86. A lapful of money and a lapful of 

children. 

87. You will marry a widow or widower. 

88. You will have few friends. 

89. You will be married this year. 

90. You will be apt to break your pro- 

mise. 

91. Marry in ha.ste and repent at leisure. 

92. You are in danger of losing your 

sweetheart. 

93. Beware of changing for the worse. 

94. You shall have many offers. 

95. You will be happy if contented. 



96. You will shortly obtain your \vishes. 

97. An advantageous bargain. 

98. You will see your intend 1 next 

Sunday for the first time. 

99. Others will covet your good ck. 
icx). Travel in a foreign land. 

loi. Venture freely and you will certainly 
gain. 

102. Your present speculations will suc- 

ceed. 

103. You love one who does not love 

you. 

104. Wealth from a quarter you little 

suspect. 

105. You will obtain your wishes through 

a friend. 

106. A fortune is in store for you — perse- 

vere. 

107. Alter your intention ; you cannot 

succeed. 

108. Remain at home for the present. 

109. Ill luck awaits you. 
no. Prepare for a journey. 

111. You will succeed according to your 

wishes. 

112. Beware of enemies who seek to do 

you harm. 

113. Misfortune at first, but comfort and 

happiness after. 

114. Prosperity in all your undertak- 

ings. 

115. Rely not on one who pretends to be 

your friend. 

116. Change your situation and you will 

do better. 

117. It will be difficult for you to get a 

partner. 

118. Your love is whimsical and change- 

able. 

119. You will meet with sorrow and 

trouble. 

120. Your love wishes to be yours this 

moment. 

121. You will gain nothing by marriage. 



PARLOR GAMES. 



43 



GEOGRAPHICAL PLAY. 

Let each person of a party write on a 
piece of paper tlie name of some town, 
country, or province ; shuffle these tickets 
together in a little basket, and whoever 
draws out one is obliged to give an account 
of some production, either natural or man- 
ufactured, for which that place is remark- 
able. This game brings out a number of 
curious bits of information which the party 
may have gleaned in reading or in travel- 
ing, and which they might never have 
mentioned to each other, but from some 
such motive. 

Let us suppose there to be drawn Nu- 
remberg, Turkey and Iceland, of which the 
drawers narrate thus : 

Nuremberg has given to the world many 
useful inventions. Here were first made 
the pocket-watch, the air-gun, gun-lock, 
and various mathematical and musical in- 
struments ; and at present half the children 
of Europe are indebted to Nuremberg for 
toys ; and the industry of the inhabitants 
is extended to teaching birds to pipe. 



Turkey is celebrated for its costly carpets, 
which all the efforts of European art and 
capital have failed in closely imitating; 
yet these carpets are woven by the women 
among the wandering tribes of Asiatic 
Turkey. The '' Turkey Bird " is, however, 
very absurdly named, since it conveys the 
false idea that the turkey originated in 
Asia, whereas it is a native of America. 
Neither is "Turkey Coffee'' grown in 
Turkey, but is so named from the great 
consumption of coffee in that country. 

Iceland produces in abundance a certain 
lichen called Iceland Moss, which is 
brought to America as a medicine, but is in 
its native country used in immense quan- 
tities as an article of common food. When 
the bitter quality has been extracted by 
steeping in water, the moss is dried and 
reduced to powder, and then made into a 
cake with meal or boiled and eaten with 
milk. 

Or take places nearer home, for instance, 
Washington, Boston, Chicago, or any of 
our cities or states. 



Amusing Forfeits. 




OUNG people are often at a loss 
for good forfeits in their games. 
In the schemes of advice upon 
the subject, the penalties they 
impose are sometimes vulgar, 
or highly absurd, creating con- 
fusion where innocent pleasure is designed. 
The following are suggested to help our 
young friends out of the difficulty. 

These forfeits, it will be seen, have each 
a separate name and number. Now, a 
good plan would be for a person who is to 
take an active part in the evening party to 
read them over during the day, and to be- 
come acquainted with them. Then, in al- 
lotting the forfeits, when they are called, 
thus: 

''here's a pretty thing, and a very 

PRETTY THING, AND WHAT SHALL THE 
OWNER OF THIS THING DO?'' 

The person awarding the forfeits may 
call out "No. I," "No. lo," "No. 15," or 
any other number ; or may say (which 
would be more amusing), ^'' Hush a bye^ 
baby!'' '' Hobson's Choice/'' ''Dot and Carry 
One/'' etc. This work may be laid on the 
table, to afford further explanation of the 
forfeits, or be held in the hand of the person 
who is holding up the forfeits while they 
are being cried ; and this person can at 
once explain what is to be done. In this 
way the redemption of the forfeits will go 
on freely, without stoppage or hesitation, 
and a capital evening's amusement be 
derived. 

I. THE KNIGHT OF THE RUEFUL COUN- 
TENANCE. 
The player whose forfeit is cried is so 
called. He must take a lighted candle in 
44 



his hand, and select some other player to 
be his squire, who takes hold of his arm, 
and they then both go round to all the la- 
dies in the company. It is the squire's 
office to kiss the hand of each lady, and 
after each kiss to wipe the knight's mouth 
with a handkerchief The knight must 
carry the candle through the penance, and 
preserve a grave countenance. 

2. JOURNEY TO ROME. 

The person whose forfeit is called must 
go round to all in the company, to tell 
them that he is going on a journey to Rome, 
and that he will feel great pleasure in tak- 
ing anything for his Holiness the Pope. 1 
Every one must give something to the \ 
traveler (The more cumbersome or awk- 
ward to carry, the more fun it occasions.) 
When he has gathered all, he is to carry 
the things to one corner of the room and 
deposit them, and thus end his penance. 

3. LAUGHING GAMUT. 

Sing the laughing gamut without pause 
or mistake, thus : 

ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

ha ha 

4. THE MEDLEY. 

Sing one line of four different songs 
without pausing between them. It would 



PARLOR GAMES. 



45 



be well to find four lines that afford humor, 
taken consecutively, such as — 

" All round my hat." 

" A rare old plant is the ivy green." 

" Sweet Kitty Clover, she bothers me so." 

"In the Bay of Biscay, O." 

5. hobson's choice. 

Burn a cork one end, and keep it clean 
the other. You are then to be blindfolded, 
and the cork to be held horizontally to 
you. You are then to be asked three times 
which end you will have? If you say 
''Right," then that end of the cork must 
be passed along your forehead ; the cork 
must then be turned several times, and 
whichever end you say must next be passed 
down your nose; and the third time, across 
your cheeks or chin. You are then to be 
allowed to see the success of your choice. 

[This will afford capital fun, and should 
be played fairly, to give the person who 
owns the forfeit a chance of escape. The 
end of the cork should be thoroughly well 
burnt. As a joke for Christmas time, this 
is perfectly allowable ; and the damp corner 
of a towel or handkerchief will set all right. 
It should be allotted to a gentleman, and 
one who has a good broad and bare face.] 

6. POETIC NUMBERS. 

Repeat a passage of poetry, counting the 
words aloud as you proceed, thus : 

Full (one) many (two) a (three) flower 
(four) is (five) born (six) to (seven) blush 
(eight) unseen (nine) and (ten) waste (eleven) 
its (twelve) sweetness (thirteen) in (four- 
teen) the (fifteen) desert (sixteen) air (seven- 
teen) ! This will prove a great puzzle to 
many, and afford considerable amusement. 

7. HUSH- A- BYE, BABY. 

Yawn until you make several others in 
the room yawn. 

[This can be done well by one person 
who can imitate yawning well, and it will 



afford indescribable mirth. It should be 
allotted to one of the male sex, with a large 
mouth and a sombre or heavy appearance, 
if such a one can be found in the party.] 

8. THE BEGGAR. 

A penitence to be inflicted on gentlemen 
only. The penitent takes a staff and ap- 
proaches a lady. He falls on his knees 
before her, and, thumping his staff on the 
ground, implores "Charity." The lady, 
touched by the poor man's distress, asks 
him — "Do you want bread?" "Do you 
want water ? " " Do you want a half-cent ?" 
etc., etc. To all questions such as these 
the Beggar replies by thumping his staff 
on the ground impatiently. At length the 
lady says, *'Do you want a kiss?" At 
these words the Beggar jumps up and 
kisses the lady. 

9. THE PILGRIM. 

The Pilgrim is very like the Beggar. A 
gentleman conducts a lady round the circle, 
saying to each member of it, if a gentle- 
man, " A kiss for my sister, and a morsel 
of bread for me." If a lady, " A morsel of 
bread for my sister and a kiss for me." 
The bread is of no particular importance, 
but the kiss is indispensable. 

10. THE EGOTIST. 
Propose your own health in a compli- 
mentary speech, and sing the musical 
honors. 

II. DOT AND CARRY ONE. 

Hold one ankle in one hand and walk 
round the room. 

[This is suited only to gentlemen.] 

12. THE IMITATION. 

If a gentleman, he must put on a lady's 
bonnet, and imitate the voice of the lady 
to whom it belongs ; if a lady, then a gen- 
tleman's hat, etc. Sometimes these imita- 
tions are very humorous. A sentence often 



46 



PARLOR GAMES. 



used by the person imitated should be 
chosen. 

13. GOING TO SERVICE. 

Go to service ; apply to the person who 
holds the forfeits for a place — say, "as 
maid of all work." The questions then 
to be asked are: ''How do you wash?" 
" How do you iron ?'' " How do you make 
' abed?" ''How do you scrub the floor?'' 
"How do you clean knives and forks?" 
etc., etc. The whole of these processes 
must be imitated by motions, and if the 
replies be satisfactory, the forfeit must be 
given up. 

14. KISSING THE CANDLESTICK. 

When ordered to kiss the candlestick, 
you politely request a lady to hold the 
candle for you. As soon as she has it in 
her hand, she is supposed to be the candle- 
stick, and you, of course, kiss her. 

15. THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 

A lady advances toward the penitent, as 
if to kiss him, and when close to him, 
turns quietly around and allows the ex- 
pected kiss to be taken by her nearest 
neighbor. 

16. THE FLORIST'S CHOICE. 
Choose three flowers. Example : Pink, 

Fuchsia, and Lily. Two of the party must 
then privately agree to the three persons 
of the forfeiter's acquaintance to be sever- 
ally represented by the flowers. Then 
proceed: What will you do with the Pink ? 
Dip it in the water ! What with the 
Fuchsia? Dry it, and keep it as a curios- 
ity ! With the Lily ? Keep it until it is 
dead, then throw it away ! The three 
names identified with the flowers are now 
to be told, and their fates will excite much 
merriment. 

17. THE fool's leap. 
Put two chairs back to back, take off* 
your shoes, and jump over them. (The 



fun consists in a mistaken idea that tlie 
chairs are to be jumped over, whereas it is 
only the shoes !) 

18. THE RIDDLE. 
Guess the answer to this Riddle. 

It is said there's a person you've loved since a boy, 
Whose hand you must kiss ere I give you this toy ; 
It is not your father, or mother, or sister, 
Nor cousin, or friend — take care not to miss, sir. 

[Himself.] 

19. THE SECRET. 

This consists in whispering a secret to 
each member of the company. 

20. THE scholar's "spell.'* 
Spell Constantinople, a syllable at a 
time. After spelling Con-stan-ti, all the 
others are to cry out *'no, no," meaning 
the next syllable. If the trick is not 
known, the speller will stop to show no 
mistake has been made, which is another 
forfeit ; on the contrary, if no stop is made, 
the forfeit is restored. 

21. THE BLIND MAN'S CHOICE. 

The one who is to pay a forfeit stands 
with the face to the wall ; one behind makes 
signs suitable to a kiss, a pinch, and a box 
on the ear, and then demands whether the 
first, second, or third be preferred ; which- 
ever it chances to be, is given. 

22. THE CLOCK. 

A player is condemned to transforma- 
tion to a clock. He stands before the 
mantelpiece and calls a player (of the oppo- 
site sex) to him. The person thus called 
upon, asks the "clock" what time it is. 
The clock replies, whatever hour he likes,— 
claiming the same number of kisses as he 
names hours of the day. 

If approved of, the player who has asked 
the time takes the place of the clock, and 
calls upon another; the original ceremony 
being repeated in turn by all the players 
of the company. 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



47 



53. ARIADNE'S LEOPARD : OR, THE HOBBY 
HORSE. 

The penitent, on liis hands and knees, is 
obliged to carry round the room a lady 
who is seated on his back, and whom all 
the gentlemen (himself excepted) are priv- 
leged to kiss in turns. 

24. HIT OR MISS. 

You are to be blindfolded, and turned 
around two or three times. Then you are 
to walk towards one of the company, and 
the handkerchief is to be taken off, that 
you may see the person you have touched. 
Then you are to kiss her hand. 

25. THE QUIET LODGER. 

The person who owns the forfeit may be 
called upon to choose one or two musical 
instruments. Having done so, he may be 
requested to imitate them. 

26. STOOPS TO CONQUER. 
Crawl around the room on all fours for- 
wards. Your forfeit shall then be laid 
upon the floor, and you must crawl back- 
wards to it, without seeing where it is 
placed. 

27. THE SOFA. 

The penitent places himself in the same 
position as for ' 'Ariadne's I^eopard," that 
is to say, on all fours. He, however, re- 
mains stationary, receiving on his back a 
lady and a gentleman, who sit comfortably 
down and exchange a kiss. 

28. THE GALLANT GARDENER. 

Compare your lady-love to a flower, and 
explain the resemblance. Thus — 

My love is like the blooming rose, 
Because her cheek its beauty shows. 

Or (facetiously) — 

My love is like a creeping tree — 
She's always creeping after me. 



29. THE STATESMAN. 

Ask the penitent what district he would 
like to represent in Congress; when the 
selection is made, he is to spell its name 
backwards, without a: mistake; if he fail, 
he knows not the requirements of his con- 
stituents, and must lose his election. 
30. TO BE AT THE MERCY OF THE COM- 
PANY. 

This consists in executing whatever 
task each member of the company may 
like to impose upon you. 

31. KISSING UNDER THE CANDLESTICK. 

This consists in kissing a person over 
whose head you hold a candlestick. 

32. TO KISS YOUR OWN SHADOW. 

Place yourself between the light and the 
person you intend kissing, on whose face 
your shadow will be thrown. 
33. TO KISS THE ONE YOU LOVE BEST 
WITHOUT ITS BEING NOTICED. 

Kissing all the ladies in the company one 
after another without any distinction. 
34. THE TWO GUESSES. 

Place your hands behind you, and guess 
who touches them. You are not to be 
released until you guess right. 

The person who owns the forfeit is to 
be blindfolded ; a glass of water and a tea- 
spoon are then to be got, and a spoonful 
given alternately by the members of the 
company, until the person blindfolded 
guesses right. ^ 

35. THE EXILE. 

The penitent sent into exile takes up his 
position in the part of the room the most 
distant from the rest of the company — 
with whom he is forbidden to communi- 
cate. From there he is compelled to fix 
the penance to be performed by the owner 
of the next forfeit, till the accomplishment 
of which he may on no account leave his 



48 



PARLOR GAMES. 



place. This may be prolonged for several 
turns. The last penitent, as soon as he 
has acquitted himself satisfactorily, takes 
the place of the exile, and passes sentence 
on the next. 

36. THE " B " HIVE. 
Repeat, without stopping, "Bandy- 
Legy'd Borachio Mustachio Whisken- 
fusticus the bold and brave Bombardino 
of Bagdad helped Abomilique Blue Beard 
Bashaw of Babelmandeb to beat down a 
Bumble Bee at Balsora. 

37. THE TRIO. 

Kneel to the wittiest, bow to the pret- 
tiest, and kiss the one you love best. 

38. ROB ROWLEY. 

Repeat the following : 
" Robert Rowley rolled a round roll round, 
A round roll Robert Rowley rolled round, 
Where is the round roll Robert Rowley rolled 
round? " 

39. THE STATUE OF LOVE. 
The player who owns the forfeit cried, 
takes a candle in his hand, and is led by 
another to one end of the room, where he 
must stand and represent the Statue of 
Love ; one of the players now walks up, 
and requests him to fetch some lady, whose 
name he whispers in Love's ear ; the 
Statue, still holding the candle, proceeds 
to execute his commission, and brings the 
lady with him ; she in turn desires him to 
fetch some gentleman, and so it continues 
till all have been summoned. The players 
brought up by Love must not return to 
their seats, but stand in a group round 
Love's standing-place, until he has 
brought the last person in the company, 
when they hiss him most vigorously, and 
the forfeit terminates. 

40. THE CHANCE KISS. 

The penitent takes from a pack of cards 
the four kings and the four queens, shuffles 



them, and without looking at them, dis- 
tributes them to a proportionate number of 
ladies and gentlemen. The gentleman 
finding himself possessed of the king of 
hearts kisses the lady holding the queen, 
and so on with the rest. 

41. THE BLIND QUADRILLE. 

This is performed when a great number 
of forfeits are to be disposed of. A quad- 
rille is danced by eight of the company 
with their eyes blindfolded, and as they 
are certain to become completely be- 
wildered during the figures, it always 
affords infinite amusement to the spec- 
tators. 

42. THE TURNED HEAD. 

This penalty should be imposed upon a 
lady. The fair one, whose head is to be 
turned, is invested with as many wrap- 
pings as possible, but every cloak, shawl, 
victorine, etc., is to be put on hind side 
before, so as to present the appearance of 
a " turned head.' ' She should be furnished 
with a muff, which she must hold behind 
her as much as possible in the usual man- 
ner, but her bonnet must be put on in the 
proper way. Thus equipped, she must 
enter the room walking backwards, and 
until her punishment is at an end, must 
continue to move in the same way. 

43. THE KING OF MOROCCO IS DEAD. 

The culprit takes a candle in his hand, 
and stepping forward, places another in 
the hands of a person of a different sex ; 
then both march to opposite sides of the 
apartment. They then assume a mournful 
air, and advance towards each other with 
a slow and measured step. When they 
meet they raise their eyes to the ceiling, 
utter some words in a sepulchral tone, then, 
with downcast eyes, they march on, each 
to take the place occupied by the other. 

This procedure is repeated as often as 



PARLOR GAMES. 



49 



there are phrases in the following dia- 
logue : 

The Gentleman. Have you heard 
the frightful news? 

The Lady. Alas ! 

The Gentleman. The King of Mor- 
occo is dead. 

The Lady. Alas ! alas ! 

The Gentleman. The King of Mor- 
occo is buried. 

The Lady. Alas ! alas ! alas ! 

The Gentleman : 

Alas ! alas ! alas ! and four times alas ! 

He has cut off his head with his steel cutlass ! 

Both then march to their places with an 
air of melancholy. Having reached their 
places, they run gaily to resume their seats 
among the company. 

44. THE YARD OF LOVE RIBBON. 

One or more yards of Love Ribbon may 
be inflicted as a penalty. 

He (or she) who suffers this infliction, 
must choose out a lady (or a gentleman), 
lead her (or him) into the middle of the 
circle, take her hands in his, extend them 
as far as the length of his arms will per- 
mit, and give (or receive) a kiss to (or from) 
the other. This is repeated with the same 
person as often as the number of yards of 
Love Ribbon are inflicted. 

45. THE JOURNEY TO CYTHERE. 

The person upon whom this penalty is 
inflicted leads another, of the opposite sex, 
behind a screen or door. Here the gentle- 
man kisses the lady, and touches any part 
of her dress which he may choose. 

On their return from the journey, they 
present themselves before all the company 
in turn, and the gentleman asks each of 
them what part of the lady's attire he has 
touched. At each mistake on their part, 
he kisses that portion of the lady's dress 
which has been named by them. If, at 
last, some one of the company guesses 
4 



correctly, he kisses the lady, or if it 
is a lady, she receives a kiss from the 
gentleman. 

If, on the contrary, no one guesses 
rightly, the gentleman names aloud the 
part of the lady's dress which he has 
touched, and kisses the lady once more 
before conducting her to her seat. 
46. love's arch. 

The gentleman (or the lady) upon whom 
this penalty is inflicted, proceeds to take a 
lady (or a gentleman) whom he leads into 
the middle of the. apartment, where both 
hold their hands entwined, and their arms 
raised in the form of an arch. Then the 
lady names a gentleman, and the gentle- 
man a lady ; the couple named are to pass 
together beneath Love's Arch, but when 
they have passed it, the arms fall, encircling 
them, and hold them prisoners until the 
gentleman has snatched a kiss. This done, 
the arms are raised, the imprisoned pair 
proceed onward, then pause to form a 
second arch ; the latter summon a third 
couple, who are forced to pay the same 
tribute in passing beneath the arch ; and 
who then advance to form a third, and so 
on as long as there are a gentleman and a 
lady remaining. 

After each pair of the company has 
formed an arch, all return to their places. 
47. THE CONVENT PORTER. 

The person paying forfeit places himself 
at the door of a chamber, which he must 
open and shut at the proper moment. A 
gentleman withdraws into this chamber, 
supposed to be the parlor of a convent. 
When he has entered and the door is 
closed, he knocks softly. The porter opens 
the door, and the gentleman whispers in 
his ear the name of the lady with whom he 
desires an interview. 

The porter then says aloud, *'The 
brother N- desires to see sister N 



50 



PARLOR GAMES. 



in the convent parlor/' The lady enters, 
and the door is closed behind her. Some 
one knocks again, the porter opens the 
door, the gentleman com*es out, and the 
lady names another gentleman, whom the 
porter introduces in the same manner. 
This proceeding is repeated so long as 
there remains to be called upon a person of 
a different sex from the one last admitted, 
unless to abridge the ceremony some one 
takes it into his head to summon the whole 
convent at once. Then the porter, who 
under no pretext has the right to enter, nor 
even to open the door until some one 
knocks, can take his revenge by turning 
the key, and keeping the whole company 
for a short time prisoners. 

48. THE FACE OF WOOD. 

The personage condemned to this penalty 
places himself erect, with his back against 
a door. In this position he calls up a per- 
son of a different sex, who takes her place, 
face to face in front of him. The latter 
calls up a third, who takes his position 
with his back towards her, and so on with 
all the company, care being taken that the 
last couple in the file shall be placed back 
to back. 

Then the leader of the game gives a 
signal, at which all the company must 
turn and kiss the person in front of whom 
this movement places him. 

The result is, that the person paying for- 
feit finds himself in front of the Face of 
Woody upon which he is bound to bestow a 
kiss as tender as those, the echoes of which 
he hears repeated behind him. 

I 49. THE DECLARATION OF LOVE. 

The gentleman condemned to this pen- 
alty must place himself upon his knees 
before the lady, who is pointed out to him, 
or whom he loves the best, and declare his 
passion for her in impromptu verses. 



Example. 

In spite of your coldness, 

I love you, my dear ; 
If love is a crime, 

See the guilty one here. 

50. THE COMPARISON. 

As a penalty a person is directed to co m- 
pare any of the company to some object or 
other, and then to explain in what he 
resembles this object, and in what he differs 
from it. 

A lady compares a gentleman to a shed 
of white paper. 

He resembles it in the facility with whicli 
he receives first impressions ; he differs 
from it in the readiness with which he 
receives a crowd of impressions, in succes- 
sion, which efface each other in their turn. 

A gentleman compares a lady to a clock ; 
like this piece of furniture, she adorns the 
place which she occupies ; she differs from 
it in rendering us forgetful of the hours 
which it recalls. 

51. THE EMBLEM. 

It differs from the comparison in this, 
that it offers an intellectual resemblance 
only between the person and the object. 

A young gentleman names the Sala- 
mander as the emblem for a lady. ' ' Why ? ' ' 
asks the latter. '' Because you live tran- 
quilly amid the flames which devour all 
who approach you." 

A lady gives a Well as the emblem of a 
learned man who is somewhat uncommu- 
nicative. " It is deep," she says, "but it 
is necessary to draw from it that which it 
contains." 

52. THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION. 

To perform this penalty it is necessary to 
execute the reverse of the orders received 
from the company. Happy the man to 
whom the ladies say, that they do not wish 
a kiss from him. 



PARLOR GAMES. 



/ 



51 



53. THE TRIP TO CORINTH. 

A gentleman holding a white handker- 
chief in his hand is led around the circle by 
the person paying the forfeit, who holds in 
his hand a lighted candle. 

The gentleman holding the handkerchief 
kisses all the ladies in turn, and with an 
air of great politeness, wipes the lips of his 
guide, who remains an idle spectator of a 
scene not a little vexatious to him. 

54. KISSKS AT SECOND HAND. 

This penalty should be inflicted upon a 
lady. She who is directed to perform it 
chooses a female friend ; she then presents 
herself to a gentleman who kisses her, and 
she then carries the kiss to her companion. 
This may be repeated as many times as 
there are gentlemen in the company. 

55. SHOOT THE ROBIN. 
This is done by blindfolding the owner 
of the forfeit, and leading him to a part of 



the room where a sheet of paper or a hand- 
kerchief has been pinned to the wall. He 
is directed then to shoot the robin, which 
he must do by starting forwards, extending 
his right arm, and pointing his finger so as 
to touch the sheet of paper. Whenever he 
succeeds in doing so, his forfeit is restored. 
His finger had better be blackened with a 
coal, or burnt cork, or something that will 
leave a mark on the paper. 

56. THE STUPID KISS. 

Kiss both the inside and the outside of a 
reticule, without opening it. This can 
only be done when the drawing-string of 
the reticule is some distance from the top, 
and when the lining appears above it. 
When you kiss the lining of the flaps or 
scollops at the top of the reticule, then you 
may be said to kiss the inside.; or hang the 
reticule against the wall, and kiss the side 
that is out and the side that is in, or next 
the wall. 



Game of Chess 




HESS is one of the most ancient 
of known games of skill. Mr. 
Drummond, a writer on the 
game of draughts, asserts that 
draughts is the ' ' elder sister 
of Chess," which he properly 
describes as the "thinking game;" but, 
however that may be, there is indisputable 
evidence that Chess was known in the 
most remote periods. Various theories are 
advanced as to its origin. One account 
states that the wife of Ravan, King of 
Ceylon, devised it in order to amuse her 
royal spouse. 

There are at least a dozen claimants for 
the honor of the invention, but all of the ac- 
counts of the origin of the " thinkinggame " 
are attended with more or less uncertainty. 
This much, at any rate, can safely be said : 



that it originated in the East many hun- 
dreds of years before the Christian era, and 
that, like civilization, it travelled west- 
ward. The date of its introduction into 
Europe is involved in almost as much 
mystery as its origin. 

Same writers suppose it to have been 
introduced in the twelfth century, while 
other very respectable authorities inform 
us that the Emperor Charlemagne, who 
died in the early part of the ninth century, 
was a chess-player. The game was much 
practiced by the monks of old, and one can 
imagine that it would serve to pass many 
solitary hours away in a pleasant and bene- 
ficial manner. To the monks, by the way, 
we owe the fact that our chess-boards are 
still made in the form of books, with the 
mock-titles of '' Rollings Ancient History,'* 



o2 



PARLOR GAMES. 



*' History of China," etc., etc. Chess was 
forbidden in the monasteries, but the 
monks, in order that they might clandes- 
tinely indulge in their favorite game, 
and at the same time secure themselves 
against detection and punishment, con- 
cealed their chess-men in these imitations 
of books. 

Another curious fact in connection with 
history is, that one of the first books (gen- 
erally thought to be the first book) printed 
in the English language, was a treatise on 
the game of Chess. 

Anything like a history of this game 
would be out of place in a merely elemen- 
tary work like the present. SufiSce it to 
say, that Chess — ancient as it is — still holds 
its own against all new-born gauds.'' It 
is still the favorite game among the edu- 
cated, and is considered an essential ac- 
complishment in most family circles, 
where, beyond doubt, it is beneficial in 
assisting the mental development of the 
young. 

The number of writers on the subject is 
legion. Mr. Walker, in his treatise, which 
was written in 1832, gives a list of several 
hundred works in different European lan- 
guages. Such is the variety of the game 
that each of these writers has something 
new and important to say about it. One 
teaches us how to extricate our men from 
a most difficult and involved position, 
when it would appear to an ordinary 
player as if nothing short of magic could 
do so. 

Another unfolds a minute system of cal- 
culation by which to entrap the adversary 
who, in his desire to give checkmate, loses 
his discretion. Others, like Philidor, show 
us that we may so place our pawns that 
they will support one another, while pre- 
senting a formidable barrier against the 
advance of the enemy. 



We will now proceed to give the neces- 
sary directions for playing the game. 

The game is played on a board divided 
into sixty-four squares, colored alternately 
black and white. It is the same as that 
used by Draughts. Eight pieces of differ- 
ent denominations and powers, and eight 
Pawns, are allotted to each competitor. 
As a necessary distinction, each set is col- 
ored in a different way ; one commonly 
being White, the other Red, or Black. 

Every player is provided with one King, 
one Queen, two Bishops, two Knights, and 
two Rooks, besides the eight pawns. The 
accompanying diagram shows the order in 
wt ich the pieces are placed on the board 
at the beginning of the game. 

BI^ACK. 





I A 1 






WHITE. 

ORDER OF THE MEN ON THE BOARD. 

In placing the board, care must be taken 
that a White corner square be at the right 
hand of each player. It should also be 
observed that the Queen must be placed 
upon a square of her own color. 



PARLOR GAMES. 



53 



THE PIECES : THEIR POWERS AND MODE OF 
ACTION. 
The King can move in any direction- 
forward, backward, sideways, or diago- 
nally, provided always, .of course, that he 
does not move into check. The King pos- 
sesses one great prerogative — that of never 
being taken; but by way of counterbalanc- 
ing the advantage of this exemption, he is 
restrained from exposing himself to check. 
He can move only one square at a time, 
except when he castles^ which he may do 
once during each game. He may then 
move two squares. He cannot castle when 
in cheeky nor after he has once moved, nor 
with a Rook that has been moved, nor if 
any of the squares over which he has 
to move be commanded by an adverse 
piece. 

The Queen can move either horizontally 
or diagonally. She combines the powers 
of the Bishop and the Rook. She can, at 
one move, pass along the whole length of 
the board, or, if moving diagonally, from 
corner to corner. Although she can move 
and take in the same manner as a Bishop, 
or as a Rook, she must make the whole of 
one move in one direction, and cannot 
combine in one move the powers of these 
two pieces. In other words, she cannot 
move round a corner at one step. 

The Rook (sometimes called the Castle) 
may pass along the entire length of the 
board at one move. It may move back- 
wards, or forwards, or sideways — but al- 
ways horizontally, never diagonally. 

The Bishop can move only in a diag- 
onal direction, but can go any number of 
squares, from one to eight, or as far as the 
space be open. The Bishop can never 
change the color of his square. Thus, the 
White King's Bishop being on a WMte 



square at the beginning, remains so 
throughout the game. This is a necessary 
consequence of his move being purely 
diagonal. 

The Knight has a power of moving 
which is quite peculiar, and rather difficult 
to explain. He moves two squares at once, 
in a direction partly diagonal and partly 
straight. He changes the color of his 
square at every move. The Knight is the 
only piece that possesses what is styled the 
" vaulting motion." He is not precluded 
from going to a square between which and 
his own other pieces intervene. 

Thus, instead of moving your King's 
Pawn two, as your first move, you might, 
if good play permitted it, move out either 
of your Knights right over the row of 
Pawns in front. This power is possessed 
by the Knight alone, all the other pieces 
being obliged to wait until there is an 
opening in front of them before they can 
emerge. The Knight can move over the 
sixty- four squares of the board in as many 
moves. There are many ways of doing 
this, but Buler's solution, unlike most 
others, is based on mathematical calcula- 
tion, and is not a mere experiment. 

The Pawn moves in a straight line 
towards the adverse party. It cannot move 
out of its file except in capturing one of 
the opposing Pawns, or pieces, when it 
steps one square in a diagonal or slanting 
direction, and occupies the square of the 
captured piece. It can only be moved one 
square at a time, excepting in the first move, 
when the player has the option of advancing 
it two squares. The Pawn is the only 
piece which cannot retreat, and which does 
not take in the direction in which it moves. 
For full explanations relative to ^' Queen- 
ing the Pawn," and taking a Pawn en 
passant^ see instructions on those points, 



54 



PARLOR GAMES. 



ABBREVIATIONS. 

The abbreviations which are invariably 
used in Chess publications are the follow- 
ing: 

K. for King; Q. for Queen; B. for 
Bishop ; Kt. for Knight ; R. for Rook ; P. 
for Pawn; Sq. for Square; and Ch. for 
Check. The pieces on one side of the 
board are distinguished from those on the 
other in the following manner : 

Those on the same side as the King are 
named after him, as K.'s B. (King's 
Bishop); K.'s Kt. (King's Knight); K.'s 
R. (King's Rook) ; while those on the 
same side as the Queen are named Q.'s 
B. (Queen's Bishop); Q.'s Kt. (Queen's 
Knight); Q.'s R. (Queen's Rook). The 
Pawns are distinguished in like manner. 
The Pawn occupying the square in front 
of the K.'s B. is called K.'s B.'s P.; that 
in front of the K.'s Kt. is called K.'s Kt.'s 
P. ; that in front of the Q.'s R. the Q.'s 
R.'s P., etc. 

TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN THE GAME- 

The Move. — Whichever player opens 
the game by making the first move, is said 
to have *'the move." 

Check. — When your King is attacked 
by any piece, he is said to be in check ; and 
it is your opponent's duty to give you 
warning of such an event by crying 
"check," when he makes th move. You 
must then put your King out of check by 
moving him, by taking the checking piece, 
or by interposing one of your own men 
between the checking piece and your King, 
thus *' covering" check, as it is termed. 

Checkmate is the term used when the 
King is in inextricable check — i. e.^ when 
none of the above means avail to place 
him beyond the range of attacking pieces. 
When a checkmate is obtained, the game 
is at an end, that being the sole object. 



Discovered Check is when the player 
moves a Pawn or piece from before another 
piece, thereby opening or *' discovering" 
check — e. g.^ the Black Rook may be on a 
line with the opposing King, the only 
intervening piece being a Black Pawn. 
The removal of this Pawn "discovers 
check." 

Double Check is when check is dis- 
covered as above, the King being also 
attacked by the piece moved. 

Perpetual Check is when the King of 
one of the players can be checked almost 
at every move, and when he has little else 
to do but move out of check. When the 
game has reached this stage, the weaker 
player may demand that checkmate shall 
be given in a certain number of moves, in 
default of which it may be declared a 
drawn game. (See Rule VIII.) 

Drawn Game. — A drawn game may 
arise from several causes \ \. As above, 2. 
Stalemate. (See "Stalemate.") 3. Equal 
play: "Between very good players" (re- 
marks Philidor), "it sometimes happens 
that the equipoise in force and position is 
constantly sustained in the opening, in the 
intermediate stages, and in the last result ; 
when either all the exchangeable pieces 
have been mutually taken, or the remain- 
ing forces are equal — as a Queen against a 
Queen, a Rook against a Rook, with no 
advantage in position, or the Pawns are 
mutually blocked up." 4. Absence of 
mating power — /. c.^ when neither player 
possesses the force requisite to obtain a 
checkmate. (See "Mating Power.") 5. 
Unskilful use of a sufficiently strong force : If 
one player is superior in force to his adver- 
sary, and possesses the requisite mating 
power, the game may still be drawn by the 
unskilful use of that superiority. If he 
cannot effect a checkmate in fifty moves it 
may be declared a drawn game. 



PARIvOR GAMES. 



55 



Stalemate describes that state of the 
game when one of the players has nothing 
left but his King, which is so placed that, 
although not in check, he cannot move 
without going into check. 

Castung is a double operation, accom- 
plished by moving the King and one of the 
Rooks at the same time. When the re- 
moval of the Bishop and the Knight on 
the one side, or of the Bishop, Knight and 
Queen on the other, has cleared the inter- 
vening squares, the King may castle with 
either of his Rooks. If it should be done 
on the King's side of the board, the King 
is to be placed on the Knight's square, and 
the Rook on the Bishop's ; if in the 
Queen's section, the King must be moved 
to the Bishop's square, and the Rook to 
the Queen's. 

In other words, the King, in either case, 
must move two squares, and the Rook be 
placed on the opposite side of him to that 
on which he stood before. It is univer- 
sally laid down that the King shall not 
castle when in check, nor when he has 
previously moved, nor with a Rook that 
has moved, nor if a square over which he 
has to pass be commanded by an adverse 
piece. 

En Prise. — A piece is said to be en prise 
when under attack. 

En Passant {in passing). — If your ad- 
versary has advanced one of his Pawns to 
the fifth square, and you move one of your 
pawns in either of the adjoining files two 
squares, he is entitled to take your Pawn, 
en passant^ as though you had only moved 
it one square. This peculiar mode of cap- 
ture can only be effected by Pawns. 

Ranks and Fii^eS. — The lines of 
squares running from left to right are 
known as Ranks^ and those perpendicular 
to them, running from one .player to the 
other, are called Files, 



Passed and Isolated Pawns. — A Pawn 
is said to be "passed" when it is so far 
advanced that no Pawn of the adversary's 
can oppose it. An Isolated Pawn is one 
that stands alone and unsupported. 

Double Pawn. — Two Pawns on tii^ 
same file. 

"J'adoube" (signifying I adjust^ or J 
arrange) is the expression generally used 
when a player touches a piece to arrange 
it without the intention of making a move. 
Perhaps it is not absolutely necessary that 
he should say "y'<3:<^.<?//^^," but he must at 
any rate use an equivalent expression. 

To Interpose. — This term explains it- 
self. If your King or one of your pieces is 
attacked, and you move another of your 
pieces between the attacking piece and the 
piece attacked, either for the purpose of 
covering check, or as a means of protec- 
tion, or with any other object, you are said 
to '' interpose." 

Winning the Exchange. — You are 
said to "win the exchange" when you 
gain a Rook for a Bishop, a Bishop for a 
Knight, or in short, whenever you gain a 
superior piece by giving an inferior. 

Queening a Pawn. — You are said to 
" Queen a Pawn " when you advance it to 
the eighth square on the file. You may 
then claim a Queen, or any other piece, in 
exchange for it. Formerly the rule was 
that you might substitute for it any piece 
you had previously lost, but, according to 
the modern game, three or more Rooks, or 
Bishops, or Knights may be obtained in 
this way. 

Gambit. — This term, which is derived 
from the Italian, describes an opening in 
which a Pawn is purposely sacrificed at an 
early stage of the game, in order subse- 
quently to gain an advantage. Several 
Gambits are distinguished by the names of 
their inventors, suqh as the Cochrane 



56 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Gambit, the Muzio Gambit, the Salvio 
Gambit, etc. There are also the Bishop's 
Gambit, the Queen's Gambit, etc., etc. 

Mating Power.— The force requisite 
to bring about a checkmate : a King and 
Queen against King and two Bishops, 
King and two Knights, King and Bishop 
and Knight, or against King and Rook, 
can effect checkmate. King and two 
Bishops can male against King and Bishop, 
or King and Knight. King, with two 
Bishops and Knight, can mate against 
King and Rook. King, with Rook and 
Bishop, can mate against Rook and King. 
King can always draw against King and 
Bishop, or King and Knight. King and 
Rook against either a King and Bishop, or 
King and Knight, makes a drawn game, 
etc. 

LAWS OF THE GAME. 

The following *' laws '' are in force in all 
the principal clubs in this country: 

I.— If a player touch one of his men, 
unless for the purpose of adjusting it, 
when he must say ''fadoube'' {see Law 
IV.) ; or it being his turn to move, he must 
move the piece he has so touched. 

[Walker gives the following remarks on 
this law— ''When you touch a piece with 
the bo7ia fide intention of playing it, the 
saying 'J'adoube ' will not exonerate you 
from completing the move. A Chessplay- 
er's meaning cannot be misunderstood on 
the point ; and were it otherwise, you 
might hold a man in your hand for five 
minutes, and then saying 'fadoube' re- 
place it, and move elsewhere !"] 

II. — If the men are not placed properly 
at the beginning of the game, and this is 
discovered before four moves have been 
made on each side, tlie game must be re- 
commenced. If the mistake should not be 
found out till after four moves have been 
made, the game must be proceeded with. 



III.— Where the players are even, they 
must draw lots for the first move, after 
which they take the first move alternately. 
When a player gives odds, he has the 
option of making the first move, and the 
choice of men in every game. 

[In giving odds, should it be agreed 
upon to give a Pawn, it is customary to 
take the K. B. P. If a piece is to be given, 
it may be taken from either the King's or 
Queen's side.] 

IV.— If a player should accidentally or 
otherwise move or touch one of his men 
without saying ''J'adoube;' his adversary 
may compel him to move either the man 
he has touched or his King, provided the 
latter is not in check. 

v.— When a player gives check, and 
fails to give notice by crying "Check," 
his adversary need not, unless he think 
proper, place his King out of check, nor 
cover. 

[If it is discovered that the King is in 
check, and has been so for several moves 
past, the players must move the men back 
to the point at which they stood when 
check was given. If they cannot agree as 
to when check was first given, the player 
who is in check must retract his last move, 
and defend his King.] 

VI. — The player who effects checkmate 
wins the game. 

VII. — Stalemate constitutes a drawn 
game. 

VIII. — If, towards the end of the game, 
one of the players has what is called the 
''mating power," his adversary may de- 
mand that checkmate shall be given in 
fifty moves. If this is not accomplished, it 
shall be declared a drawn game. 

IX.— The operation of " Castling" can- 
not be effected when the King is in check, 
nor when the King or Rook has been 
previously moved, nor when the space be 



PARLOR GAMES. 



57 



not clear between the King and Rook, nor 
when any of the squares over which the 
King has to pass are commanded by the 
adversary. 

X. — So long as you retain your hold of 
a piece you may move it where you will. 

[Great dissatisfaction is sometimes caused 
by the latitude which this law allows. It 
has often been said that this law would be 
improved if it were made compulsory to 
move the piece in the direction in which it 
had been inclined, and that when it has 
been rested on a particular square it should 
remain therCc and the move considered 
complete. ''To finger the squares of the 
board whilst planning your move," says 
Walker, "is strictly legal, but a most villa- 
nous habit."] 

XI. — No limit is fixed to the time 
allowed for the consideration of each move. 
Where great delay occurs, a third party 
may be appealed to ; and if he should pro- 
nounce the delay vexatious, the player 
refusing to move loses the game. 

[This is a necessary law, but it would 
often be desirable to come to a mutual 
agreement as to the time beforehand. No 
greater bore can be imagined than an ex- 
cessively cautious player. In matches of 
consequence the time is generally stipu- 
lated.] 

XII. — Should you move one of your 
adversary's men instead of your own, he 
may compel you to take the piece you have 
touched, should it be en prise^ or to replace 
it and move your King; provided, of 
course, that you can do so without placing 
him in check. 

XIII. — Should you capture a man with 
one that cannot legally take it, your adver- 
sary may compel you either to take such 
piece (should it be en prise) with one that 
can legally take it, or to moye the piece 
touched ; provided that by so doing you do 



not discover check, in which case you may 
be directed to move your King. 

XIV. — Should you rnove out of your 
turn, your adversary may compel you 
either to retract the move, or leave the 
piece where you placed it, as he may think 
most advantageous. 

XV. — If you touch the King and Rook, 
intending to Castle, and have quitted hold 
of the one piece, you must complete the 
act of Castling. If you retain your hold of 
both, your adversary may compel you to 
move either of them. 

XVI. — The game must be declared to be 
drawn should you fail to give checkmate 
in fifty moves, when you have 

King and Queen against King 

King and Rook 

King and 2 Bishops 

King, Bishop, and Kt. 

King and Pawn 

King and 2 Pawns 

King and minor piece 
XVII. — Drawn games of every descrip- 
tion count for nothing. 

XVIII. — Neither player may leave a 
game unfinished, nor leave the room with- 
out the permission of his adversary. 

XIX. — lyookers-on are not permitted to 
speak, nor in any way express their appro- 
bation or disapprobation while a game is 
pending. 

XX. — In case a dispute should arise on 
any point not provided for by the laws, a 
third party must be appealed to, and his 
decision shall be final. 

COMPARATIVE VALUE OF THE PIECES. 

The Pawn is always accounted the low- 
est in value. Its importance, however, like 
that of all the other pieces, changes as the 
game progresses. Towards the end of a 
game its value is considerable. 

The; IvNIGUt is of more value in the 



58 



PARLOR GAMES. 



first attack than in the final struggle. It 
loses force as the game proceeds. In cer- 
tain situations the Knight is of incompar- 
able value. Its peculiar vaulting power 
gives it considerable importance in com- 
plicated positions. Walker considers it of 
equal value with the Bishop. 

The Bishop. — Mr. Walker gives a list 
of the advantages which the. Bishop and 
Knight possess over each other, and sums 
up by expressing it as his opinion, 
*' founded on practical experience, that the 
Bishop is superior to the Knight only in 
imagination ; and that the two pieces 
should be indiscriminately exchanged by 
the learner, as being of strictly equal value 
in cases of average position." Most other 
authorities, however, maintain that the 
Bishop is, upon the whole, slightly supe- 
rior to the Knight. 

The Rook is reckoned to be about 
equivalent to a Bishop and two Pawns, or a 
Knight and two Pawns. It is seldom 
called into active play at the commence- 
ment of a game, but it gradually rises in 
importance, till towards the close it may 
almost be said to command the game. In 
actual play, it is probably oftener instru- 
mental in giving checkmate than any other 
piece. With the King, a Rook can mate 
against a King — a power possessed by no 
piece besides the Queen. 

The Queen decreases in power as the 
game proceeds. Throughout, however, she 
holds by far the first position in value. 

The King, though seldom of much use 
for purposes of attack at the beginning, 
acquires considerable force as the game 
becomes narrowed. His power of moving 
in any direction, and attacking any piece 
besides the Queen, is often of great value. 

The plan of comparing, by means of fig- 
ures, pieces of which the value varies so 
considerably, is obviously somewhat im- 



practicable, and the estimate cannot in all 
cases be relied on. To the learner, how- 
ever, it may be of some service in convey- 
ing to him a vague idea of their realative 
value. Suppose the Pawn to stand as i ; 
the value of the Knight may be estimated 
at rather more than 3 ; that of the Bishop 
rather less than 4 ; that of the Rook at 
about 5 ; and that of the Queen at about 



HINTS FOR COMMENCING THE GAME. 

To Open the game well, some of the 
Pawns should be played out first. The 
Royal Pawns particularly, should be ad- 
vanced to their fourth square ; it is not 
often safe to advance them further. The 
Bishop's Pawns should also be played out 
early in the game ; but it is not always 
well to advance the Rook's and Knight's 
Pawns too hastily, as these afford excellent 
protection to your King in case you should 
Castle. 

Philidor describes Pawn-playing as *'the 
soul of Chess." When they are not too 
far advanced, and are so placed as to be 
mutually supporting, they present a strong 
barrier to the advance of your adversary, 
and prevent him from taking up a com- 
manding position. If you play your pieces 
out too early, and advance them too far, 
your . adversary may oblige you to bring 
them back again by advancing his Pawns 
upon them, and you thus lose time. 

"The art of playing well at Chess," says 
Walker, "consists principally in gaining 
time,'' so you will see how desirable it is to 
avoid the necessity of retracing your steps. 
At the same time, you must not keep your 
pieces back till you have moved all your 
Pawns ; otherwise you prevent yourself 
from framing a strong attack. Indeed, 
you will probably be called upon to defend 
yourself before your attack is ready. Much 



PARLOR GAMES. 



59 



depends upon the particular opening that 
you choose, and quite as much upon your 
own judgment. 

Do not commence your attack until you 
are well prepared. A weak attack often 
results in disaster. If your attack is likely 
to prove successful, do not be diverted from, 
it by any bait which your adversary may 
purposely put in your way. Pause, lest 
you fall into a snare. 

Beware of giving check uselessly — that 
is, unless you have in view the obtaining 
of some advantage. A useless check is a 



move lost, which may, particularly be- 
tween good players, decide the game. 

It is generally injudicious to make an 
exchange when your position is good, or 
when, by so doing, you bring one of your 
adversary's pieces into good play. Never * 
make an exchange without considering^ 
the consequences. When your game is 
crowded and ill-arranged, and your posi- 
tion inferior, it is advantageous to ex- 
change. Sometimes, also, when you are 
much superior in force, it is worth your 
while to make an equal exchange. 



Backgammon. 




HB game of Backgammon is 
allowed on all hands to be 
the most ingenious and ele- 
gant game next to chess. 
The word is Welch, and 
signifies littlebattle. The ori- 
gin and antiquity of the 
game has been accordingly ascribed to 
the Cambro Britons, although it is claimed 
also by the French and Spaniards. 

This game is played with dice by two 
persons, on a table divided into two parts, 
upon which there are twenty-four black 
and white spaces, called points. 

Each player has fifteen men, black and 
white to distinguish them. If you play 
into the left-hand table, two of your men 
are placed upon the ace point in your ad- 
versary's inner table ; five upon the sixth 
point in his outer table ; three upon the 
cinque point in your own outer table ; and 
five upon the sixth point in your inner 
table, and the adversa'ry's men are to be 
placed so as to correspond with yours in a 
directly opposite position. 

The object of the game is to bring 
the men round to your own "home," 



or inner table ; consequently, all throws of 
the dice that tend to this, and impede 




BACKGAMMON BOARD. 

your adversary in executing the same de- 
sign on his part, are in your favor. The 
first most advantageous throw is aces, as it 
blocks the sixth point in your outer table,' 
and secures the cinque point in your inner 
table, so that you adversary's two men 
upon your ace point cannot escape with 
his throwing either quatre, cinque, or six. 
Accordingly, this throw is often ^sked and 



t)0 



PARLOR GAMES. 



given between players of unequal skill by 
way of odds. 

HOYLE'S INSTRUCTIONS. 

1. If you play three up, your principal 
object in the first place is either to secure 
your own or your adversary's cinque point 
When that is effected you may play a 
pushing game, and endeavor to gammon 
your opponent. 

2. The next best point (after you have 
gained your cinque point) is to make your 
bar-point, thereby preventing your adver- 
sary running away with two sixes. 

3. After you have proceeded thus far, 
prefer making the qnatre point in your 
own table, rather than the quatre point 
out of it. 

4. Having gained these points, you have 
a fair chance to gammon your adversary if 
he be very forward. For suppose his table 
to be broken at home, it will be then your 
interest to open your bar-point, to oblige 
him to come out of your table with a six, 
and having your men spread, you not only 
may catch that man which your adversary 
brings out of your table, but will also have 
a probability of taking up the man left in 
your table, upon the supposition that he 
had two men there. And if he should have 
a blot at home, it will be then your interest 
not to make up your table, because if he 
should enter upon a blot which you are to 
make for the purpose, you will have a 
probability of getting a third man, which, 
if accomplished, it will give you at least 
four to one of the gammon ; whereas, if 
you have only two of his men up, the odds 
are that you do not gammon him. 

5. If you play for a hit only, one or two 
men taken up of your adversary's makes it 
surer than a greater number, provided your 
t^ible be made up. 



TECHNICAL TERMS. 

Backgammon. — The entire game won. 

Bar. — The division between the two 
sections of the board. 

Bar-point. — The point adjoining the 
bar. 

Bearing your Men. — Removing them 
from the table after bringing them home. 

Blot. — A single man upon a point. 

Doublets. — Two dice bearing the same 
number of pits. 

Gammon. — To win a gammon is to win 
two out of the three points constituting 
the game. 

Hit. — To remove all your men before 
your adversary has done so. 

Home. — The inner table. 

Making Points. — Winning hits. 

To Enter. — To enter is to place a man 
again on the board after he has been exclud- 
ed on account of a point being already full. 

LAWS OF THE GAME- 

Hoyle appends the following laws of the 
game to his treatise : 

1. If you take a man or men from any 
point, that man or men must be played. 

2. You are not understood to have played 
any till it is placed upon a point and 
quitted. 

3. If you play with fourteen men only, 
there is no penalty attending it, because 
with a lesser number you play to a disad- 
vantage, by not having the additional man 
to make up your tables. 

4. If you bear any number of men before 
you have entered a man taken up, and 
which consequently you were obliged to 
enter, such men, so borne, nnist be entered 
again in your adversary's tables, as well as 
the man taken up. 

5. If you have mistaken your throw, 
and played it, and your adversary have 
thrown, it is not in your or his choice to 
alter it, unless both parties agree. 





HK^ 



m 





0- k 



M^ 



i 



Living Waxworks. 




CAPITAL form of entertain- 
ment originating in our own 
country, but which has now 
taken j&rm root in Europe. 
It was first described, to the 
best of our belief, in a 
book entitled "Mrs. Jarley's Far-famed 
Collection of Waxworks, as arranged by 
G. B. Bartlett, of Concord, Mass." Readers 
who are of an imaginative turn, and have 
a dash of humor in their composition, will 
easily improve upon Mr. Bartlett's descrip- 
tions. The '*Mrs. Jarley " referred to is of 
course the lady of Old Curiosity Shop celeb- 
rity. She is represented by Mr. Bartlett 
as being assisted by ^'Little Nell," also two 
servants, John and Peter, in livery suits. 
The figures exhibited comprise, among 
others, a Chinese giant, a two-headed girl, 
Mrs. Winslow (of Soothing Syrup celeb- 
rity). Captain Kidd the Pirate, and a Lady 
" Victim," a Maniac, the Siamese Twins, 
the Babes in the Wood, Blue Beard, a 
Singing Lady (Signora Squallini), a Canni- 
bal, Little Bo-Peep, Old King Cole, Little 
Red Ridinghood, the Sleeping Beauty, 
Robinson Crusoe, Joan of Arc, Robin 
Hood, the Man with the Iron Mask, and a 
selection of Shakespearian characters. 

There are suggestions for the dressing 
and arrangement of each figure, also a few 
sentences of appropriate patter, which the 
reader may or may not adopt, as he pleases. 
Some of Mr. Bartlett's jokes are very funny, 
some are not. The opening instructions 
are as follows : 

"At rise of curtain the Chinese giant 
stands at back of stage, the other figures 
being placed on each side of him in a 
semi-circle. John and Peter are seated on 



low stools at the left. Little Nell is dust- 
ing the figures with a long feather-brush. 
Mrs. Jarley stands in front and begins her 
opening speech, directing her men to bring 
out each single figure before she describes 
it. John then winds up each one, after it 
has been described (when it goes through 
its movements), and when it stops it is 
carried back to its place. 

' ' If the stage is too small, they may be 
shown in different groups or chambers, 
according to the judgment of the manager. 
After all have been described, the assistants 
wind up all, and the figures go through 
their motions all together, to the music of 
a piano, keeping time to a tune, which 
gradually goes faster, then all top, and 
curtain falls." 

Mrs. Jarley, dressed in an old black 
dress, bright shawl, and coal-scuttle bon- 
net, makes her opening speech, as follows : 

'' Ladies and gentlemen, you here be- 
hold Mrs. Jarley, one of the most remark- 
able women in the world, who has trav- 
elled all over the country with her curious 
collection of waxworks. These figures 
have been gathered, at great expense, 
from every clime and country, and are here 
shown together for the first time. I shall 
describe each one of them for your benefit, 
and shall order my assistants to bring 
some of them forward, so you can see 
them to advantage. 

" After I have given you the his tory of 
each one of this stupendous collection, I 
shall have each one of them wound up, for 
they are all fitted with clockwork inside, 
and they can thus go through the same 
motions they did when living. In fact, 
they do their movements so naturally, that 

61 



62 



PARLOR GAMES. 



many people have supposed them to be 
alive ; but I assure you that they are all made 
of wood and wax; blockheads every one. 
Without further prelude, I shall now in- 
troduce to your notice each one of my fig- 
ures, beginning, as usual, with the last one 
first. 

**This figure (the Chinese giant) is uni- 
versally allowed to be the tallest figure in 
my collection. He originated in the two 
provinces of Oolong and Shang-high, one 
province not being long enough to pro-^ 
duce him. On account of his extreme 
length, it is impossible to give an adequate 
idea of him in one entertainment, conse- 
quently he will be continued in our next. 
He was the inventor, projector and discov- 
erer of Niagara Falls, Bunker's Hill Mon- 
ument, and the Balm of a Thousand Flour 
* barrels' (?). 

In fact, everything was originally dis- 
covered by him or some other of the 
Chinese. They are a queue-rious people, 
especially those who live in Peek-in. The 
portrait of this person, who was a high 
dignitary among them, may be often seen 
depicted on a blue china plate, standing 
upon a bridge which leans upon nothing 
at either end, intently observing two birds 
which are behind him in the distance." 

*'Wind up the Giant." 

When wound up, the giant bows low, 
then wags his head three times, and bows 
as before ; and after a dozen motions slowly 
stops. 

The above will give a fair idea of the 
general arrangement of the Bartlett show. 
The writer, in a tolerably large experience 
as an amateur wax-work showman, has 
found it expedient to make two or three 
radical alterations. In the first place, he 
suppresses Mrs. Jarley, Little Nell and one 
of the two assistants, all of whom divert the 
attention of the audience from the show 



proper, and are much better dispensed with. 
The showman should be attired in ordinary 
evening dress, carrying a light rod, where- 
with to indicate the figures. The one as- 
sistant may wear a fancy costume, if 
thought desirable, though we prefer the 
dress of everyday life. 

Secondly, the number of figures shown 
at one time should be much smaller than 
Mr. Bartlett contemplates. It should be 
limited to five groups, arranged in a semi- 
circle, in such manner relatively to each 
other as to produce a maximum of artistic 
effect. We have found it a good plan to 
make the show consist of three single fig- 
ures, and two groups of two, arranged ac- 
cording to the following examples : 

Chinese Giant. 

Siamese Twins. Blue Beard and Fatima 

Bearded I,ady. Mrs. Win slow. 

Robinson Crusoe. 

Babes in the Wood. Captain Kidd and his Victim. 

The Singing Lady. The Maniac. 

By adopting the above arrangement, the 
spectators get a much better view of the 
performance than when the stage is crowded 
with a score of figures, and the performers 
can stand still without much difficulty for 
the space of time (about a quarter of an 
hour) which the description or "patter" 
takes in delivery. If the groups are more 
numerous than this, the patter necessarily 
takes longer, and standing absolutely still 
becomes a serious trial of endurance, far 
too severe, indeed, for the average per- 
former. If it is desired to exhibit a larger 
number of groups, the curtain should be 
lowered while the second set take up their 
positions. 

Thirdly, the bringing forward of the 
figures is quite out of harmony with the 
character of the entertainment, which 
should assimilate as closely as possible to 
a genuine waxwork exhibition. Each fig- 
ure should be on a raised stand. These 



PARLOR GAMES. 



63 



may be empty boxes used two together 
where necessary, and covered either with 
red or green baize, Turkey twill, or, if 
economy be a first consideration, with red 
dock wall paper. These stands ostensibly 
contain part of the mechanism of the fig- 
ures, and to these are screwed the " wind- 
ing up ' ' appliances. 

It is not necessary to have a winding-up 
. apparatus attached to each figure. The 
assistant steps to the back of the figure, 
goes through the motions of winding up 
the machinery, and at the same time has 
some simple device that will make a noise 
like the winding of a clock. As he is 
partly concealed by the figure, the audi- 
ence are none the wiser. 

The choice of the particular figures rep- 
resented will depend a good deal on the 
costumes available. These may range 
from the sublime to the ridiculous. A 
group like, say, Romeo and Juliet, or the 
Sleeping Beauty, may be made as orna- 
mental as you please, and a figure like the 
Chinese Giant, well got up, is picturesque 
enough to be interesting without any ele- 
ment of absurdity. But in the majority of 
cases, like the Singing I^ady (Signora 
Squallini), or the Cannibal, with his war 
(w)hoop in his hand, the more ridiculous 
the figures can be made, within due limits, 
the better. The Babes in the Wood may 
be effectively represented by a couple of 
grown men, or tall youths, in the costumes 
of a very small boy and girl respectively. 

The Siamese Twins should be alike in 
costume (evening dress is as good as any- 
thing), the necessary touch of absurdity 
being imparted by red wigs, red noses, 
huge white neckties, and a sunflower in the 
button-hole of each. The mysterious link 
between them may be the bone of an 
"aitch-bone" of beef, attached by meaiis 
of holes drilled in it, and a couple of extra 



strong safety-pins, to the coat of each on 
the outside. 

Blue Beard and his wife Fatima may be 
represented in Oriental costume. There is 
no particular ground for believing that 
Blue Beard was of Eastern origin, but the 
costume is effective, and a contrast to other 
characters. Blue Beard flourishes a -scimi- 
tar — Fatima kneels on a cushion at his 
feet, and when wound up, wipes with her 
handkerchief a (red-cloth) stain on an enor- 
mous key (of gilt cardboard), the token, as 
the showman explains, of her fatal key- 
uriosity. Blue Beard at the same time 
sharpens his scimitar on an ordinary 
butcher's steel. 

Mrs. Winslow (always a popular figure, 
if well got up) should wear a flowery chintz 
gown, a white cross-over shawl, and a cap 
with a good deal of frill. Some fun may 
be occasioned by placing close beside her 
chair a second bottle, labelled, in bold char- 
acters, ^^Gin," and allowing her, when she 
has administered the "soothing syrup" 
proper to the baby (a big doll) on her lap, 
to take a swig herself from the larger bottle. 
This is remarked on by the showman as 
proving the extraordinary naturalness of 
his figures. 

The Singing I^ady is a vocal figure. 
When wound up, she utters a succession of 
shakes and trills, ending abruptly on a 
wrong note, as if the mechanism had run 
down. The Bearded Lady (usually a gentle- 
man in feminine attire) is another very 
popular figure. She may be made to hold 
a comb and hand-mirror, and when wound 
up, to comb her beard, at the same time 
admiring herself in the glass. The move- 
ment should of course be somewhat jerky 
and mechanical. 

Captain Kidd and his Victim form an 
alternative group for Blue Beard and Fa- 
tima, according as the one or the other 



64 



PARLOR GAMES. 



pair of characters is the most easily dressed, 
in view of the resources of the wardrobe. 
For suggestions as to the treatment of 
other figures, we may refer the reader to 
Mr. Bartlett's book, at the same time 
recommending hi in not to adhere too 
slavishly to the instructions there given, 
but to improve upon them where practi- 
cable. 

A good " make-up " box, by the way, is 
indispensable, and it is desirable that at 
least one member of the troupe should have 
some little skill in using it. 

One last word as to Rehearsals. It might 
perhaps be imagined that the only person 
needing rehearsal would be the showman, 
and that if his patter is humorous and well 
delivered, nothing more is required. There 
could not be a greater mistake. The per- 
formers have one and all to learn to " stand 
fire," to keep their countenances in spite of 
the ridiculous appearance of themselves 
and their fellows, and the absurdities which 
the showman purposely introduces. The 
wax figure who smiles is lost. Now, this 
self-control is purely a matter of practice 
and repetition. We have found it advis- 
able to have never less than three full-dress 
rehearsals, and if a fourth can be had before 
a limited and friendly audience (say some 
half-dozen friendly people who can't 



come to the actual show), so much the 
better. 

The first rehearsal may be a sort of 
" go-as-you-please '' affair, being designed 
mainly to settle positions, movements, etc., 
but the whole of the patter should be gone 
through. During this first rehearsal the 
performers are allowed to laugh as much as 
they please, and they usually make full 
use of their liberty. On the second occa- 
sion they are expected to keep steady, and 
they find much less difficulty in doing so. 
They are becoming hardened to the absur- 
dities of their position, and by the time 
they have had a third or fourth rehearsal 
they will stand the showman's most excru- 
ciating jokes without a smile — in point of 
fact they no longer see any fun in them. 

Here, by the way, we may give a final 
caution to the showman. It will often 
happen that in the thick of the actual 
show, some new funniment flashes into his 
mind. The temptation to let it off is 
almost irresistible, but it must neverthe- 
less be resisted. A new joke at such a 
moment is a cruel strain on the gravity of 
the other performers, and if, undet such 
circumstances, the supposed wax figures 
" give themselves away " by bursting into 
a general guflaw, the showman has only 
himself to thank. 



Curious Puzzles 

[For Answers see the Part Following.] 




VBR since tlie days of the 
Egyptian Sphynx, Puzzles, 
Paradoxes, Riddles, and other 
mystifications have been pop- 
ular sources of amusement. 
From the simplest Riddle to 
the most abstruse Paradox, 
they are all productive of a peculiar and 
lively pleasure. The youthful mind is by 
nature analytical and inquiring, and takes 
delight in searching to the bottom of any- 
thing that appears difficult to understand. 
Puzzles, therefore, are excellent means 
for the development of these natural 
tendencies, combining, as they do, the ele- 
ments of work and play. They strengthen 
the memory by exercising it, teach us 
application and perseverance, enable us to 
improve the faculty of holding several 
ideas in the mind at once, and, in short, 
are highly beneficial to all the more intel- 
lectual qualities. 

The pleasure of arriving at the correct 
solution of a difficult problem, after a long 
and patient study over it, is as great as 
that arising from any other mental victory, 
and even the study itself has no small 
amount of pleasure in it. 

The Puzzles in the following pages, 
have been selected from many sources. 
The explanations of them have been pre- 
pared with much care, so as to render 
them explicit and easy of comprehension ; 
but our young friends should remember 
that the pleasure lies in working out the 
answers themselves, instead of jumping at 
once to the printed solutions. 
5 



I. THB MAGIC SQUARE. 

With seventeen pieces of wood (lucifer 
matches will answer the purpose, but be 
careful to remove the combustible ends, 
and see that they are all of the same 
length) make the following figure : 



The Puzzle you propose is — to remove 
only five matches, and yet leave no more 
than three perfect squares of the same size 
remaining. 

2. THE TRAVELLER'S MAZE. 

The instructions for this fireside amuse- 
ment are as follows : The Traveller must 
enter at the opening at the foot, and must 
pass between the lines forming the road to 
the Castle in the middle. There are no 
bars in the route ; one road crosses another 
by means of a bridge, so that care must be 
taken that, in following the route, the 
Traveller does not stray from one road to 
another, and thus lose the track. For in- 
stance, on entering, he will have to pass 
under a bridge of another road crossing 
over his path ; in continuing the route he 
will next pass over a bridge crossing 
another road, and thus continue his course. 
A little practice will accustom the Trav- 
eller to the method of the Maze. It is not 
a fair test of the merits of the Maze to 

65 



6tJ 



PARLOR GAMES. 



commence from the centre ; but the Trav- 
eller will be at full liberty, when he has 




THE TRAVELLER S MAZE. 

entered the Castle, to get out again if 
he can. 

3. THE BLIND ABBOT AND THE MONKS. 

To arrange counters in the eight exter- 
nal cells of a square, so that there may 
always be nine in each row, though the 
whole number may vary from eighteen to 
thirty-six. 

To give an air of interest to this prob- 
lem, the old writers state it in the following 
manner : — A convent, in which there were 
nine cells, was occupied by a blind abbot 
and twenty-four monks, the abbot lodging 
in the centre cell, and the monks in the 
side cells, three in each, forming a row of 
nine persons on each side of the building, 
as in the accompanying figure. 




Fig. I. 



Fig. 2. 



The abbot, suspecting the fidelity of the 
monks, frequently went round at night 
and counted them, when, if he found nine 
in each row, he retired to rest quite satis- 
fied. The monks, however, taking advan- 
tage of his blindness, conspired to deceive 
him, and arranged themselves in the cells 
as in Fig. 2, so that four could go out, and 
still the abbot would find nine in each row. 



2 5 2 

5 5 

2 5 2 



1 


7 


1 


7 




7 


1 


7 


1 



Fig. 3. 



Fig. 4. 



The monks that went out returned with 
four visitors, and they were arranged with 
the monks as in Fig. 3, so as to count nine 
each way, and consequently the abbot was 
again deceived. 

Emboldened by success, the monks next 
night brought in four more visitors, and 
succeeded in deceiving the abbot by ar- 
ranging themselves as in Fig 4. 

Again four more visitors were introduced, 
and arranged with the monks as in Fig 5. 

Finally, even when the twelve clandes- 
tine visitors had departed, carrying off six 



PARLOR GAMES. 



67 



of the monks with them, the abbot, still 
finding nine in each row, as in Fig. 6, 






9 







5 





4 


9 




9 













9 





4 





5 



Fig. 5. 



Fig. 6. 



retired to rest with full persuasion that no 
one had either gone out or come in. 

4. THE DISHONEST JEWEI.I.ER. 

A lady sent a diamond cross to a jeweler 
to be repaired. To provide against any of 
her diamonds being stolen, she had the 
precaution to count the number of dia- 
monds, which she did in the following 
A 

o 

o 
o 

QOOOOOOOT^ 

o 
o 
o 

o 
o 

B 

manner : — She found the cross contained 
in length from A to B, nine diamonds ; 
reckoning from B to C, or from B to D, she 
also counted nine. When the cross was 
returned, she found the number of dia- 
monds thus counted precisely the same, yet 
two diamonds had been purloined. How 
was this managed ? 

5. THE THREE GENTI.EMEN AND THEIR 
SERVANTS. 
Three gentlemen and their servants hav- 
ing to cross a river, find a boat without its 
owner, which can only carry two persons 



at a time. In what manner can these six 
persons transport themselves over by pairs, 
so that none of the gentlemen shall be left 
in company with any of the servants, ex- 
cept when his own servant is present ? 

6. THE drover's PROBI.EM. 

One morning I chanced with a drover to meet, 
Who was driving some sheep up to town, 

Which seemed very near ready to drop from the heat, 
Whereupon I exclaimed with a frown : 

*' Don't you think it is wrong to treat animals so? 

Why not take better care of your flock ?" 
' ' I would do so," said he, * * but I've some miles to go 

Between this and eleven o'clock." 

"Well, supposing you have," I replied, "you should 
let • 

Them have rest now and then by the way." 
" So I will, if you believe I can get 

There in time for the market to-day. 

" Now as you seem to know such a lot about sheep, 
Perhaps you'll tell us how many I've got? " 

"No, a casual glance as they stand in a heap, 
Won't permit of it, so I cannot." 

" Well, supposing as how I'd as many again. 

Half as many, and seven, as true 
As you're there, it would pay me to ride up by train; 

Because I should have thirty-two." 

7. THE NINE DIGITS. 
Place the nine digits (that is, the several 
figures or numbers under ten) in three rows, 
in such a way that, adding them together 
either up or down, across, or from corner 
to corner, they shall always make fifteen. 

8. THE I.ANDI.ORD TRICKED. 

Twenty-one persons sat down to dinner 
at an inn, with the landlord at the head of 
the table. When dinner was finished, it 
was resolved that one of the number should 
pay the whole score ; to be decided as fol- 
lows. A person should commence counting 
the company, and every seventh man was 
to rise from his seat, until all were counted 
out but one, who was to be the individual 
who should pay the whole bill. One of 



68 



PARLOR GAMES. 



the waiters was fixed upon to count the 
company out, who, owing his master a 
grudge, resolved to make him the person 
who should have to pay. How must he 
proceed to accomplish this ? 

9. THE FIVE ARAB MAXIMS. 

Explain the five Arab maxims following: 



Never 


All 


For he 
who 


Every 
thing 


Often 


More 
than 


Tell 


You may 
know 


Tells 


He 
knows 


Tells 


He 

knows 


Attempt 


You can 
do 


Attempts 


He 
can do 


Attempts 


He 

can do 


Believe 


You may 
hear 


Believes 


He hears 


Believes 


He hears 


Lay out 


You can 
afford. 


Lays out 


He can 
afford 


Lays out 


He can 
afford 


Decide 
upon 


You may 
see. 


Decides 
upon 


He sees 


Decides 
upon 


He seee 



10. A DOZEN QUIBBLES. 

(i). How must I draw a circle round a 
person placed in the centre of a room, so 
that he will not be able to jump out of it, 
though his legs should be free ? 

(2). I can stretch my arms apart, having 
a coin in each hand, and yet, without 
bringing my hands together, I can cause 
both coins to come into the same hand. 
How is this to be done ? 

(3). Place a candle in such a manner, 
that every person shall see it except one, 
although he shall not be blindfolded, or 
prevented from examining every part of the 
room, neither shall the candle be hidden. 

(4). A person may, without stirring from 
the room, seat himself in a place where it 
will be impossible for another person to do 
so. Explain this? 

(5). A person tells another that he can 
put something into his right hand, which 
the other cannot put into his left. 



(6). How can I get the wine out of a 
bottle if I have no corkscrew, and must not 
break the glass, or make any hole in it or 
in the cork ? 

(7). If five times 4 are thirty-three, what 
will the fourth of twenty be ? 

(8). What two numbers multiplied to^ 
gether will produce seven ? 

(9). If you cut thirty yards of cloth into 
one yard pieces, and cut one yard every 
day, how long will it take? 

(10). Divide the number 50 into two such 
parts that, if the greater part be divided by 
7, and the less multiplied by 3, the sum of 
the quotient and the product will make 50. 

(11). What is the difference between 
twice twenty-five and twice five and 
twenty ? 

(12). Place four fives so as to make six 
and a half. 

II. THE TREE PUZZLE. 

Arrange fifteen trees in sixteen rows, 
with three in each row ; also two rows of] 
four trees, and one row of seven trees. 

12. THE DISHONEST SERVANTS. 

Three gentlemen, with their servants, 
had to cross over a river in a boat inj 
which two passengers only could be trans- 1 
ported at one time. The servants were| 
known to have planned to murder and rob 
one or more of the masters if two servants 
were left with one master or three servants 
with two masters. The question to be de- 
cided was how these six persons were to 
cross so that the boat could be returned, 
and yet so that the servants on either side 
of the river should not outnumber the 
masters. 

13. ADDITION BY SUBTRACTION. 

To take one from nineteen, so that the 
remainder shall be twenty. 



PARLOR GAMES. 



69 



14. THE FAMOUS FORTY-FIVE. 
The number 45 can be divided into four 
such parts that if to the first 2 is added, 
from the second 2 is subtracted, the third 
is multiplied by 2, and the fourth divided 
by 2 : — the total of the addition, the re- 
mainder of the subtraction, the product 
of the multiplication, and the quotient of 
the division will be the same. 

15. NOTHING LOST BY SUBTRACTION. 

Forty-five may be subtracted from 45 in 
such a manner as to leave 45 for a remain- 
der. How can this be done ? 
16. READING ANOTHER PERSON'S MIND. 

You are required to find the number an- 
other person is thinking of without his 
telling you what it is. How will you do it ? 

17. MAGICAL ADDITION. 

Arrange the figures i to 9, so that by 
adding them together they will make 100. 
How can this be done? 

18. THE CLEVER LAWYER. 

The following good story has puzzled 
many : A country attorney was once left 
executor to a will in which the testator 
bequeathed his stable of horses to be di- 
vided among three persons, in the propor- 
tions of half of the horses to A, a third of 
the horses to B, and a ninth of the horses 
to C. When the will was made 1 8 horses 
were in the stable, but subsequently, and 
before the death of the testator, one died, 
leaving but 17. The division according 
to the will now seemed impossible ; but to 
prevent disputes among the legatees, the 
lawyer gave a horse out of his own stable, 
then divided the horses according to the 
will, and yet received his own back, and 
all were satisfied. How was it done? 

19. NEW WAY OF MULTIPLYING BY 9. 

How can you shorten the old way of 
multiplying any number by the figure 9 ? 



20. THE VEST PUZZLE. 
How can you take a man's vest oflf with- 
out removing his coat? 

ALPHABETICAL PUZZLES. 

The Alphabetical Puzzle, though simple 
in its construction, affords an opportunity 
for the riddler, not only to display his in- 
genuity, but also to quicken his percep- 
tion of sound. The puzzle consists in the 
choice of a word, the sound of which when 
uttered, shall be comprised in the naming 
of one or more letters of the alphabet. The 
word chosen should then be briefly described 
or defined, the number of letters forming 
the word stated, together with the number 
of letters that, when uttered, give a sound 
similar to the sound of the chosen word, 
thus : 

A word denoting a volume of water, 
spelt with three letters, but that can be ex- 
pressed with one. Answer : Sea, C. 

This simple example will make the 
above description perfectly clear ; and we 
now give some other examples in order to 
set forth the variety that may be intro- 
duced into this kind of amusement. 

Words containing three letters which can be 
expressed in one: 

21. An insect. 

22. A river. 

23. A bird. 

24. A garden vegetable. 

25. A Chinese beverage. 

26. A tree. 

Words containing four letters which can be 
expressed in two : 

27. An adjective. 

28. A prophet. 

29. Repose and comfort. 

Words containijtg five letters which can 
be expressed hi tzvo : 

30. An exertion of mind or body. 

31. Decrepitude. 



70 



PARLOR GAMES. 



32. An English county. 

33. To surpass. 

34. A lady's Christian name. 

35. A lady's Christian name. 

36. Plural of a species of leguminous 
plant. 

37. To lay forcible hands on. 

38. Requires replenishing. 

Words containing Jive and six letters which 
can be expressed in three : 

39. A tax. 

40. A flower. 

41. A plaintive poem. 

Words containing six and seven letters 
which caji be expressed in two : 

42. A superfluity. 

43. A species of pepper. 

Words cojitaining six and seven letters 
which can be expressed in three : 

44. A likeness. 

45. A state of being. 

46. To pardon. 

47. Dissolution. 

GUESSING STORIES. 

This is a word puzzle entertainment, 
into which the riddler may, if by a judi- 
cious display of imagery, description and 
humor, he only properly sets about his 
work, introduce much genuine amusement 
and fun. 

The puzzle is best explained by an illus- 
tration which is given below, and which 
can be taken as a model on which other 
*' Guessing Stories" may be constructed. 

48. I am the child of the night, and the 
child of the day. Some dread me, some 
hate me, some find me a good companion. 
I have walked for many a mile, but no one 
ever heard my footfalls. Sometimes my 
master sends me on before him, but as he 
travels as quickly as I do, he sends me 
back sometimes, and I have to follow in 
the rear. I have hands and feet, head, 



shoulders, and body. It is impossible to 
estimate my exact height. Nobody has 
ever looked into my eyes ; nobody has ever 
incurred my anger. I sometimes in my 
haste run over people, and am sometimes 
trampled under foot by them. When my 
master writes, I always hold a pen by his 
side ; and when he shaves, I generally take 
a razor too. I have travelled a good deal, 
and am very old. When Adam walked in 
Eden, I, too, was there, and when any new 
member of Congress goes to Washington, 
I nearly always accompany him. Robinson 
Crusoe was disturbed by my approach 
when I visited him on the Island of Juan 
Fernandez ; and on one occasion I was the 
means of defeating an army. Although I 
have no eyes, I could not live without 
light. I am of very active habits, although 
I have not the will or the ability to move. 
Tell me my name. 

49. What words are described in the fol- 
lowing lines ? 

There's a word you'll agree, commencing with B 

That expresses a cool pleasant shade ; 
But remove letter B and substitute C, 

Apprehensively shrinking 'tis made ; 
Take away letter C, replace it by D, 

It will name what's bestowed on a bride; 
Thus far very well, now substitute L, 

We are going down now you will say ; 
Letter L shall be gone, and M be put on, 

There's a man cutting grass to make hay ; 
But when M shall have fled put P there instead, 

It will name what is mentioned of steam ; 
Pray just now P erase, put R in its place, 

There's a man gliding down with the stream : 
But now take R away, put S there, we say. 

That a farmer at work then it names. 

50. What words are described in the 
following lines ? 

What is pretty and useful, in various ways, 

Though it tempts some poor mortals to shorten their 

days ; 
Take one letter from it, and then will appear 
What youngsters admire every day in the year ; 
Take two letters from, and then, without doubt. 
You are what that is, if you don't find it out. 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



71 



5 1, The most celebrated enigma ever 
written is the following, which is at- 
tributed to lyord Byron. What is the 
answer ? 

'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas mutter' d in hell, 
And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell ; 
On the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest, 
And the depths of the ocean its presence confess' d. 
'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder, 
'Tis seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder ; 
'Twas allotted to man from his earliest breath, 
It assists at his birth, and attends at his death ; 
Presides o'er his happiness, honor and health, 
Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth. 
In the heap of the miser 'tis hoarded with care, 
But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir. 
It begins every hope, every birth it must bound, 
It prays with the hermit; with monarchs is crowned; 
Without it the soldier and seaman may roam, 
But woe to the wretch that expels it from home. 
In the whispers of conscience 'tis sure to be heard, 
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned ; 
'Twill soften the heart, though deaf to the ear, 
'Twill make it acutely and constantly hear ; 
But in short, let it rest— like a beautiful flower, 
Oh, breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour. 

52. Find the answer to the following, 
which is from the pen of I^ord Byron : 



I am not in youth, nor in manhood, nor age. 

But in infancy ever am known ; 

I'm a stranger alike to the fool and the sage ; 

And though I'm distinguished in history's page, 

I always am greatest alone. 

I am not in earth, nor the sun, nor the moon ; 

You may search all the sky — I'm not there. 

In the morning and evening — though not in the 

noon — 
You may plainly perceive me ; for, Hke a balloon, 
I am midway suspended in air. 
Though disease may possess me, and sickness and 

pain, 
I'm never in sorrow nor gloom. 
Though in wit and in wisdom I equally reign, 
I'm the heart of all sin, and have long lived in vain, 
Yet I ne'er shall be found in the tomb. 

53. To the pen of Germany's celebrated 
poet, Schiller, we are indebted for the fol- 
lowing expressive Enigma : 

A bridge weaves its arch with pearls 

High over the tranquil sea. 
In a moment it unfurls, 

Its span unbounded, free. 
The tallest ship with sweUing sail 

May pass ' neath its arch with ease ; 
It carries no burden, 'tis too frail, 

And when you approach, it flees. 
With the flood it comes, with the rain it goes, 

And what it is made of nobody knows. 



Answers to Curious Puzzles. 

[The Puzzles, Biddies, Enigmas, etc., the Answers to which follow, are 
found in the Part preceding this.] 



I. ANSWKR TO THE MAGIC SQUARE. 

This seeming impossibility is rendered 
easy by removing the two npper corners on 
each side and the centre line below, when 
the three squares will appear thus : — 






This ingenious device is the best prob- 
lem for parlor magicians we are acquainted 
with. 



2. KEY TO THE TRAVEI<ER'S MAZE. 

On entering the Maze, pass to the left, 
leaving the road to the right (which is a 
feint). In following up the course, after 
some windings, we fall into a cross road, a 
little below on the left of the Castle. Turn- 
ing to the right we come to a fork, close to 
the entrance of the Castle. Take the lower 
road, leading to the left^ which passes close 
over the flagstaflf of the Castle. We then 
fall into a branch road up and down, close 
under a bridge ; take the road down, and 
this will lead you to a point, or meeting of 



72 



PARLOR GAMES. 



four roads. Take the road leading to the 
right of the Castle, and by following it up, 
we pass close to the right corner of the 
Castle. A little further on the road again 
separates into two, under a bridge ; come 
down, and avoiding the road leading to the 
left of the Castle, we come to a fork a little 
to the left of the entrance. By taking the 
lower road, and avoiding the road to the 
right, the Castle will at once be reached. 

3. ANSWER TO THE PROBLEM OF THE 
BLIND ABBOT AND THE MONKS. 

It is almost needless to explain in what 
manner the illusion of the good abbot arose. 
It is because the numbers in the angular 
cells of the square were counted twice ; 
these cells being common to two rows, the 
more therefore the angular cells are filled, 
by emptying those in the middle of each 
band, these double enumerations become 
greater; on which account the number, 
though diminished, appears always to be 
the same ; and the contrary is the case in 
proportion as the middle cells are filled by 
emptying the angular ones, which renders 
it necessary to add some units to have nine 
in each band. 

4. ANSWER TO THE DISHONET JEWELER. 

The jeweler arranged the diamonds thus: 



00000 

o 
o 

o 
o 

o 
o 

B 



D 



5. ANSWER TO PUZZLE OF THE THREE 
GENTLEMEN AND THEIR SERVANTS. 

First, two servants must pass over ; then 
one of them nmst bring back the boat, and 
repass with the third servant ; then one of 



the three servants must bring back the 
boat, and stay with his master whilst the 
other two gentlemen pass over to their ser- 
vants ; then one of these gentlemen with 
his servant must bring back the boat, and, 
the servant remaining, his master must 
take over the remaining gentlemen. 
Ivastly, the servant who is found with the 
three gentlemen must return with the boat, 
and at twice take over the other two 
servants. 

6. ANSWER TO THE DROVER'S PROBLEM. 
Ten in the flock ; ten, as many again ; 
five, half as many ; seven besides ; total, 
thirty-two. 

7. ANSWER TO THE NINE DIGITS. 

6 7 2 



c^ 



Ox 



Cn 



15 15 15 15 

8. ANSWER TO THE LANDLORD TRICKED. 

Commence with the sixth from the land- 
lord. 

9. ANSWER TO THE ARAB'S MAXIMS. 

Read the first and second alternately. 
" Never tell all you may know, for he who 
tells everything he knows, often tells more 
than he knows." Then tlie first and third, 
first and fourth, first and fifth. 

10. ANSWER TO A DOZEN QUIBBLES. 

(i.) Draw it round his body. 

(2.) Place the coin on the table, then, 
turning round, take it up with the other 
hand. 

(3.) Place the candle on his head, tak- 
ing care that no mirror is in the room. 

(4.) The first person seats himself in the 
other's lap. 

(5). The last persons left elbow. 



PARI^OR GAMES. 



73 



(6.) Push the cork into the bottle. 

(7.) ^%- 
(8.) 7 and i. 
(9.) Twenty-nine days. 
(10.) 35 and 15. 

(11). Twice twenty-five is fifty; twice 
five, and twenty, is thirty. 
(12.) 5S.5. 

II. ANSWER "TO THE TREE PUZZLE. 

Arrange the trees in the following man- 
ner. 










= •. -. -: W/ 
1 \ X"i.. .VX.X 

I / \/ l-'v' \AJ \/ , 
/ ,>(/'i' /\/\ X/\ \ 

\L^ \xi/ ^/ ^ 



12. ANSWER TO THE DISHONEST SERVANTS. 

The following is one of the several ways 
in which the difficulty might have been 
overcome : Two servants go over first, one 
returns ; two servants go over again, one 
again returning with the boat ; two of the 
masters next go over, and a master and 
one of the previously taken servants re- 
turns ; then two of the masters again go 
over, and the servant already crossed takes 
the boat back, leaving the three masters 
safely crossed; the servants are left to 
come over in any manner they choose. 

13. ANSWER TO ADDITION BY SUB- 
TRACTION. 

See how it is done : XIX (nineteen), by 
taking away the one that stands between 
the two tens (XX.) twenty will remain. 



A similar catch is to write down nine 
figures, the sum of which is 45, from that 
number to take away 50, and to let the re- 
mainder be fifteen. The numerals should 
be added together thus : 1+2 + 3 + 4+5 + 6 
+ 7 + 8 + 9 = 45, or XlyV, from which take 
away L. (50), and there will be left XV. 
(15). 

14. ANSWER TO THE FAMOUS FORTY- 
FIVE. 

The first part is 8, to which add 2, and the total will be 10 

The second is |.2, from which subtract 2, and the total 

will be 1 

The third is 5, which multiply by 2, and the re- 

sult will be 10 

The fourth is 20, which divide by 2, and the result 

will be 1 

45 

15. ANSWER TO NOTHING LOST BY 
SUBTRACTION. 

Arrange the following figures, add the 
rows together, and each row will be 45, 
subtract the bottom row from the top 
row, and the sum of the result added to- 
gether will also be 45. 

9+8+7+6+5+4+3+2+1=45 

1 +2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9=45 



8+6+4+1+9+7+5+3+2=45 

16. answer to reading another 
person's mind. 

Ask a person to think of a number ; then 
tell him to subtract i from that number ; 
now tell him to multiply the remainder 
by 2; then request him again to subtract 
I, and add to the remainder the number 
he first thought of, and to inform you of 
the total. When he has done this, you 
must mentally add 3 to that total, and 
then divide it by 3, and the quotient will 
be the number first thought of. This is 



74 



PARLOR GAMES. 



an excellent arithmetical pastime, exam- 
ples of which we give below : 

lo 15 18 23 
I I I I 



9 


14 


17 


22 


2 


2 


2 


2 


18 


28 


34 


44 


I 


I 


I 


I 


17 


27 


33 


43 


10 


15 


18 


23 


27 


42 


51 


66 


3 


3 


3 


3 



3)30 3)45 3)54 3)69 



10 



15 



18 



23 



17. ANSWER TO MAGICAL ADDITION. 

The following is a peculiar arrangement 
of the figures i to 9, so that by adding them 
together they make 100 : 

15 
36 
47 

98 
2 

100 

18. ANSWER TO THE CLEVER LAWYER. 
It was done in the following manner: — 
A received the half of 18, namely 9 horses. 



B " third 

C *' ninth 



The lawyer's horse returned 



6 

2 

17 
I 

18 



19. ANSWER TO NEW WAY OF MULTIPLY- 
ING BY 9. 

Suppose it be required to multiply the 
following figures by 9, the result may be 



obtained in the following as well as in the 
ordinary way. In the first example the 
ordinary method has been pursued; the 
new way consists in adding a o on the 
right-hand side of the figures, and sub- 
tracting the number to be multiplied. 



467543 
9 

4207887 



4675430 
467543 

4207887 



20. ANSWER TO THE VEST PUZZLE. 

This puzzle is almost good enough to be 
included among conjuring tricks, but as 
there is neither magic nor sleight of hand 
involved, there is no alternative but to 
place it here. The puzzle seems ridicu- 
lous and unreasonable, as in performing it 
neither the coat nor vest may be torn, cut, 
or damaged, nor may either arm be re- 
moved from the sleeve of the coat. The 
puzzle cannot always be performed, as it 
depends upon the size of the coat-sleeves 
allowed by the fashions of the day, though 
as a rule a coat with suitable sleeves will 
be found in most households. 

The person whose waistcoat has to be 
removed should be the wearer of a coat the 
sleeves of which are sufficiently large at 
the wrist to admit of the hand of the 
operator being passed up and through 
them. Any person undertaking to per- 
form the puzzle in a drawing-room should 
first request some one of the company to 
remove his evening coat, and to replace it 
by a light spring overcoat ; this being done, 
it will be easy to carry out the following 
instructions : The waistcoat should first be 
unbuttoned in the front, and then the 
buckle at the back must be unloosed. 

The operator standing in front of the 
person operated upon, should then place 
his hands underneath the coat at the back, 
taking hold of the bottom of the waistcoat, 
at the same time requesting the wearer to 



PARIvOR GAMES. 



75 



extend, his arms at full length over his 
head. Now raise the bottom part of the 
waistcoat over the head of the wearer (if 
the waistcoat be tight it will be necessary 
to force it a little, but this must not be 
minded so long as the waistcoat is not 
torn) ; the waistcoat then will have been 
brought to the front of the' wearer, across 
his chest. 

Take the right side bottom-end of the 
waistcoat, and put it into the arm-hole of 
the coat at the shoulder, at the same time 
putting the hand up the sleeve, seizing the 
end, and drawing it down the sleeve ; this 
action will release one arm-hole of the 
garment to be removed. The next thing 
to be done is to pull the waistcoat back 
again out of the sleeve of the coat, and put 
the same end of the waistcoat into the left 
arm-hole of the coat, again putting the 
hand up the sleeve of the coat as before, 
and seizing the end of the garment. It 
may then be drawn quite through the 
sleeve, and the puzzle is accomplished. 



ANSWERS 


TC 


> ALPHABETICAI. PUZZI.KS. 


21. 


Answer : 


Bee 


B. 


22. 






Dee 


D. 


23. 






Bird 


J. 


24. 






Pea 


P. 


25. 






Tea 


T. 


26. 






Yew 


U. 


27- 






Wise 


Y Y. 


28. 






Seer 


C R. 


29. 






Ease 


E E. 



30 


(( 


Essay 


S A. 


31 


(( 


Decay 


D K. 


32 


u 


Essex 


S X. 


33 


u 


Excel 


X I.. 


34 


(( 


Ellen 


I. N. 


35 


u 


Katie 


K T. 


36 


u 


Peas 


P P. 


37- 


(( 


Seize 


C C. 


38 


(( 


Empty 


M.T. 


39 


u 


Excise 


XII. 


40. 


(( 


Peony 


P N E. 


41. 


u 


Elegy 


Iv E G. 


42. 


(( 


Excess 


X S. 


43. 


(( 


Cayenne 


K N. 


44. 


(( 


Effigy 


F E G. 


45. 


(( 


Entity 


NTT. 


46. 


(( 


Excuse 


X Q Q. 


47- 


u 


Decease 


D C C. 



48. ANSWER TO GUESSING STORY. 
x\ Man's Shadow. 

49. ANSWER TO WORDS DESCRIBED. 

Bower ; Cower ; Dower ; I^ower ; Mower ; 
Power ; Rower ; Sower. 

50. ANSWER TO WORDS DESCRIBED. 

Glass ; Lass ; Ass. 
51. ANSWER TO CEI.EBRATED ENIGMA. 
The letter H. 

52. ANSWER TO ENIGMA. 

The letter I. 

53. ANSWER TO SCHILIvER'S ENIGMA. 

The Rainbow. 



Dramatic proverbs. 



PROVERB I. 

"WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY, THEN THE MICE WILL PLAY. 



CHARACTERS. 

Patrick O'Holohoolan, a Coachman. 

Bridget Foley, a Cook, 

Meiiitable Coffin, a Chambennaid. 

Bob, a Page^ in btittons. 

Mr. Garnett, a wealthy housekeeper^ mas- 
ter of the above servants. 

Mrs. Garnett. 

Mike Hennessy, Sandy M'Culloden, 
Mrs. Rafferty, Miss Dollop and other ser- 
vants belonging to neighboring families. 

A Policeman. A Thief. 

SCENE — A drawing-room in jVIr. Gar- 

nett's house. 

Patrick, Bridget, and Bob. 

Pat. Shure, thin, Miss Foley, an' it's a 
good time we'll be afther havin' wid our 
parthy. Things is corned round convay- 
nient intirely. 

Bridget. Yis, honey. It's mesilf was 
thinkin' that same, jist. Troth, an' I was 
mighty afcard that the master and missus 
would niver be afther a-goin' in the coun- 
thr>'. Shure it's the only vacation pore 
servants has, when the fam'lies is out of 
town. 

Pat. Bob, have yez given out all the 
invites ? 

Bob. Yes. They're all coming, 'cept 
the two Flauagans. 

Pat. Bad luck to them. It's common 
folk they are, thin, and onfit for the com- 
pany of daycint people. I'm glad they're 
not com in' 
76 



Bridget. An' it's the blessed thruth 
ye' re tellin,' Them Flanagans hain't got 
no manners, and in consekence, no eddica- 
tion. Go see what time it is. Bob. 

Bob. Don't you wish I would ! 

Pat. What d'ye mane, ye spalpeen, 
talkin' to yer betthers afther that fashion ? 
Where's yer manners, ye little roosh-lighi! 

Bob. I don't care. I ain't the servants' 
servant. Master's away nc"^^ and I'm jest 
as good as anybody. I only went round 
with the invitations 'cause you promised 
me some of the ice-cream. 

Bridget. Did I iver see sich an upstart I 
Go at onst, sir, an' see what time it is ! 

Bob. [mockingly.^ making a face at her. ) 
Ya-a-a. 

\^Runs off^ with Patrick after him. 

Pat. (comijig back.) Shure, the imper- 
ence of these underlings is awful. Miss 
Foley! {Bell rings.) There's the bell- 
some of the company must be afther ar- 
rivin'. 

Bridget. Yis, machree ; jist step an' let 
'em in. That gossoon will niver answer 
the bell. 

Pat. Well, Miss Foley, I don't think it's 
quite the coachman's place to be runnin' to 
the doore. 

Bridget. No more it isn't the cook'?. 

Pat. But shure, ma'am, it's more of a 
woman's bisness than a man's. 
I Bridget. Misther O'Holohoolan, I'm 
1 dressed for the parthy, sir, an' I decline 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



77 



agoin* to the doore, if it isn't opened to- 
night. 

\^Bell rings. 
Pat. Och, smithereens! Here, Bob. 

[ Calling. 
Enter Bob. 

Bob. What d'ye want ? 

Bridget a7td Pat. Don't yez hear the 
bell, shure? 

Bob. Yes, I hear it. 

Bridget. Well, it's the company. 

Bob. Oh, is it ! 

Pat. Yis, an' they wants to come in. 

Bob. Oh, does they ? 

Bridget. Go to the doore. Bob, there's 
a honey ! 

Pat. Go to the doore, ye thafe of the 
world ! 

Bob. Do you want the door opened, you 
two? 

Pat ^;2<^ Bridget. Avcoorse. \_B ell rings. 

Bob. Well, you'd better open it, then. 

\_Runs off. 

Pat. Shure an' I see I'll have to be 
afther bemanin' my station by openin' the 
doore mesilf. (Looking reproachfully at 
Bridget.) Some folks is too mighty proud 
intirely. I won't open it agin, though. 

Bridget. /'// niver tend a bell. 

Pat. Shure thin, I' 11 jist lave it ajar, an' 
when they rings agin, I'll tell 'em to come 
right in, of thimselves. \Exit. 

Enter Mehitable Coffin. 

Mehitable (^pertly). Ah, Miss Foley, 
hasn't nobody come yet ? 

Bridget. Yes ; MistherO'Holohoolan is 
gone down to let 'em in. Is the wine iced. 
Miss Coffee ? 

Mehitable. Miss Coffin, if you please, 
marm. I don't know anythin' about the 
wine, marm, I never was brought up to use 
spirituous things. 

Bridget. Och, darlint, an' it's a mighty 



dale of good a little dhrop does, now an' 
thin. 

Mehitable. I wouldn't tech a glass for 
the world, marm. I knowed two very 
likely young fellers, down to hum, in Ken- 
nebec, who commenced with wine, marm, 
and drinked theirselves into their grave, in 
ten years, marm. 

Enter Patrick, with Mike Hennessy and 
Mrs. Rafferty. 

Pat. Mike, this lady is Miss Coffin — 
one of our family. 

Mike (bowing awkwardly^. My respects 
to yez. Miss Muffin. 

Mehitable. Miss Coffin, if you please, 
Mr. Mike. 

Mike. Mr. Hennessy, if you plaze. Miss 
Coffin„ 

[^During this introduction MRS. Rafferty 
shakes hands with Bridget, and takes off her 
bonnet and shawl^ which she throws on a 
chair ^ 

Bridget. Good evenin' to yez, Misther 
Hennessy — how is the childher ? 

Mike. Comf'able, mum, bad luck to 
'em (Pat introduces Mehitable and Mrs. 
Rafferty, at back of stage .^ where they stand 
talking\ barrin' that little Joe has the fay- 
ver, and Cathrun stuck a fork in her fut, 
yisterday. Och, mum, it's hard work, it 
is, intirely, to take care of the poor orph- 
lings, an' I think I'll have to be lookin' 
afther another wife, shure ! \_Bell rings. 

Bridget. Patrick— Misther O'Holohoo- 
lan — there's some one ringin' ! 

[Pat goes to window.^ puts his head out., 
and shouts. 

Pat. Come right up, shure ! The 
doore' s left ajar for yez ! 

[Bridget and Mike retire to back of 
stage talking^ and Mehitable and 
Mrs. Rafferty come forward. 

Mehitable. Yes, marm, I'm uncommon 
fond of parties. The gals and fellers allers 



78 



PARLOR GAMES. 



has great times down in Kennebec, to corn 
shuckin's and parin' bees. 

Mrs. R. Och, honey, ye should jist be 
over in the ould counthry, onst, and have 
a taste o' Donnybrook Fair ! Shure, 
that's the place for coortin', an' dancin', 
an' singin', and fightin', and gittin' com- 
fortably dhrunk ! 

Enttr Sandy McCulloden with Miss Dol- 
lop. 

Pat. Ah, it's you, is it, Misther Mc- 
Culloden ? How are yez ? 

\SJiaking hands. 
Sandy. Weel, I canna say I'm in sic 
bad health as I ha' seen. Miss Dollop, 
Mr. O'Holohoolan. Miss Dollop is the 
chambermaid at our house. 

Ml<s Dollop (lookmg savagely at him). I 
attend to the dormitories, and I hope I'm 
not ashamed to say so. 

Pat. Troth, it's all one. Sandy's 
fren's is my fren's, an' I'm glad to see 'em. 
Sandy. Hoot, girl ! ye need na fly aff 
the handle sae ! It's na disgrace to ken 
how to mak' a bed or liantle a broom ! 
Gang yonder to Miss Foley, an' let her 
tak' off yer duds. 

[]\nss Dollop goes to Bridget, and 

takes off things. Mehitable and 

Mrs. Rafferty join them., and they 

talk apart. Sandy sits down on Mrs. 

R's bonnet without seeing it., and taking 

out a pipe, Jills it. Pat and Mike 

also get pipes., and sit down ivith 

Sandy. 

Mike {looking suspiciously at Sandy's 

chair). Troth, Mr. McCulloden, I think 

ye're aftlier a-sittin' on something. 

Sandy (getting up and holding smashed 
bonnet out at arm^ s leiigtH). Ay, fecks ! I 
think I ha' doon some damage ! 

\The women come forward^ and Mrs. 
Raffbrty sees the bonnet. 



Mrs. R. Och ! murther ! look at me 
hat — me bran-new hat ! Its kilt and spiled 
entirely; ochone, wirristhroo ! an' all 
along of that great awkward baste of a 
Scotchman ! ochone ! 

Mkiiitable. Law sakes ! you might 
know she wasn't brought up to havin' 
good clothes ! she takes on more about a 
bunnet than I would about a silk gownd ! 

Sandy. Tush, woman, dinna mak' sic 

a hue-and-cry. I'm sair fashed aboot it ! 

[Mrs. R. snatches the bo7inet^ and 

threatens Sandy zvith her Jist; all 

crowd aboict., and all speaking at once., 

a terrible conjusion ensties. 

Pat [speaking at the top of his voice) Be 
quiet, will yez ! [fumps up on chair., a7id 
shouts to the party) Och, be quiet, I say, 
an' we'll hush the matther up, over a bot- 
tle o' wine or sperits ! We'll have some- 
thing to drink ! I say ! D'yez hear ! 
( They suddenly become silent. ) There, thin, 
I knowed I could settle the difficulty, aisy 
enough. Come out o' the way, Sandy, 
for a minnit, an' help me bring in the re- 
frishments. {Exit., with Sandy. 

Miss Dollop. I guess no man wouldn't 
sit on my hat more than once ! 

Mehitable. Nor on mine ; but I 
wouldn't get so cantankerous, and raise 
Cain so, about no cheap bonnet like that 
ere ! 

Mrs. R. Bad luck to ye, do ye call that 
a chape bonnet, when it cost me five shil- 
lin's sterlin' in ould Ireland, and I haven't 
worn it but two year come next Michael- 
mas will be a month ! 

Bridget <?;^^Mike. Now, thin, don't be 
afther worryin' anny more. 

Enter Pat and Sandy with trays., bottles., 
etc. , which they place on table. 

Pat. Now, fall to, good luck to yez all ! 
Mrs. Rafferty, will ye thry a little bog- 



PARIyOR GAMES. 



79 



poteen? Miss Foley, plaze do the banners 
of the table. 

Bridget. Thank ye, sir, I'm not a 
waiter. 

Pat. Och, wirra ! and it's mighty un- 
obleegin' yez are, to be shure. (Takes 
glass ^ and tries to fill it from bottle^ but finds 
it empty, Shure, somebody's bin at the re- 
frishments ! [Lifts cover from dish^ and 
finds it empty also. ) Och, an' the ice-crame's 
all gone, too ! {Runs out, 

Mrs. R. This is a mighty pretty parthy, 
now, isn't it Mike Hennessy, where a 
body's things is spiled an' ruined intirely, 
an' there's nothin' to ate or dhrink, barrin' 
empty bottles an' dishes ? 

Bridget. Good enough for the likes of 
you, Misthress Raflferty ! 

\Another confusion begins to arise ^ when 
Pat appears^ dragging Bob by the 
collar. Bob has his mouth full.^ a very 
red face .^ and drops apples.^ cakes .^ etc.^ 
all over the stage, 

Pat. Ochone ! Haven't I caught ye, 
now, ye murtherin' little thafe o' the 
world — ate up all the ice-cram e, an' poun' 
cake, an' dhrink all the sherry — will ye ? 

Bob {trying to talk with his mouth full) 
Blob-blob, glob, glog, blog-lob. 

Mike. Shure, now — 

Sandy. Hoot, mon ! 

Mrs. R. Well, now— 

Mehitable, I^aw sakes ! du tell. 

Bridget. Och! the gossoon! 

Miss Dollop, Deary me ! 

\They all run to table .^ and examine 
dishes. Bob slips away and runs out. 
All talk at once^ louder and louder.^ 
till nothing can be hea^d but a perfect 
uproar. 

Enter Bob, with his face pale., and his hair 
on end., looking much terrified. 

Bob. Thieves ! thieves ! help ! murder ! 



[Miss Dollop throws herself . into 
Sandy's arms., and pretends to faint. 
Mrs. Rafferty throws herself upon 
Mike, and nearly upsets him. The 
rest stand back alarmed, 
Pat. Thaves? Where? 
Bob. Somebody' s carried off the spoons, 
from the dining-room, and a whole lot of 
things ! 

All. Oh ! oh ! 

Bridget. It was all along of your lavin' 
the front door open, Pat. Shure, it's just 
like yez ! 

[ While all stand aghast., the door opens 
and Mr. and Mrs. Garnett enter. 
Mrs. G. Whew ! faugh ! tobacco smoke! 
Mr. G. What's all this? By Jove, 
here are pretty goings on ! Patrick ! • 
Pat (looking very sheepish). Yes, sir. 
Mr. G. Bridget. 
Bridget. Yes, sir. 

Mr. G. Who are all these people, 
carousing and smoking here in my draw- 
ing-room ? 

Pat. Shure, sir, an' they're only a few 
fren's as dhropped in to — 

Mr. G. Dhropped in, did they ? Well ? 
they can dhrop out again now, the sooner 
the better. Do you hear, you people, 
Go — leave — vanish I 

\All draw back towards the door,'\ 
Mrs. G. Oh ! my poor carpet is ruined. 
Mrs. Rafferty. Och, mum, an' so is 
me poor hat ! 

Enter Policeman, holding Thief by the arm. 
Policeman. Mr. Garnett ! 
Mr. G. Hallo ! who have you got 
there. Brown ? 

Policeman. A well-known hall thief, 
sir, and he had a lot of spoons marked 
with your name. I caught him just 
around the corner here, sir, and thought 
I'd see who he had been robbing. 

\_Gives spoons /<$> Mrs. Garnett. 



80 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Mr. G. You are a good officer, Brown ; 
here, take this {giving him mouey)^ and help 
me to clear these wretches out of the house. 

All. Oh ! oh ! 

Mk. G. Go, every one of you ! Pat- 
rick, you and Bridget may pack up your 
things as soon as you can, for I can tell 
vou that you shall not stay another day in 
my service. Now, Brown, clear the room ! 
The Policeman dnnvs hischib^ the party 
make a rush for the door^ and tumble 
out in confusion. 

Policeman. They're a nice set, sir. It's 
a mercy they hadn't burned the house 
down before now. 

Mks. Garnett. Just to think of such a 



company drinking and smoking in my 
parlor ! 

Mr. Garnett. My dear it is always the 
way. These people are never to be trusted, 
only when one's eyes are upon them. I 
will leave it to any of our matronly friends 
here (turning to audience)^ if their servants 
do not '' worr}^ the lives out of them." 
When we're at home, they're steady as 

you please — 
But when we go away, they take their ease; 
My coachman's faithless — 

Mrs. Garnett. So are cook and maid. 
I'm out of patience ! 

Mr. Garnett. And our proverb's played. 
curtain. 



PROVERB II. 

"IT NEVER RAINS BUT IT POURS." 



Characters. 
Jack Thompson, his friend, 
Paul Smithers. 
Mr. Simpson, M.C. 
Mrs. Bobbidge. 
Postman, Waiter, etc, 

SCENE — An attic bed-room. A table R C.^ 

upon which are a quajitity of MS.^ 

an inkstand^ letters^ etc. 

Enter Paul Smithers, shabbily attired,^ ex- 
aynining a large rent in the side of his coat. 

Paul. Just my luck ! must go and tear 
my coat coming up those confounded stairs. 
— I never saw such a tear. — I haven't any 
needle and thread, neitherhavelany money 
to get it mended. I am an unlucky fel- 
low ! Hallo ! here are one or two letters 
that have been left during my absence in 
search of money. I wonder what my 
creditors have to say to-day. (Takes up let- 
ter and opens it.] Ah, the old story — wants 
his money. I'll be bound he don't want 
it any more than I want to pay him. 



Its no use reading any more, they're all 
alike, I know, — yet I may as well look 
over the signatures, and see who they are 
from. (Opens three letters}) Let me see. 
Packer, that's my tailor, — you can go there 
(throws it into waste-paper basket that is at side 
of table). Benson — eh, he's my bootmaker, 
you can go there (throws it into waste basket). 
Now for the last, — who's this? Smith, — 
Smith, I don't know anybody of the name 
of Smith. I'll read the letter. 

'' Sir : — Some time ago you recom- 
mended a friend of yours to me as a 
boarder ; no doubt you will recollect it ; 
telling me at the time that you would be 
responsible for his board. Now, sir, he 
has gone away in my debt, amounting in 
all to fifteen dollars. Will you please for- 
ward it to me, or shall I call upon you ? 
*' Yours obediently, 

"John Smith. 



" P.S. — Your friend's name was Jack- 



son. 



PARI.OR GAMES. 



81 



Did you ever see anything like it ? I 
have not spoken to Jackson for fifteen 
months, and now Smith conies down upon 
me for fifteen dollars : — charged a dollar a 
month for not seeing a fellow ! {A knock 
heard at the door.) Come in. 

Enter ^AGiL Thompson. 

Jack. Hallo ! Paul, how goes it ? 

Paul. Shocking. 

Jack. Sorry to hear it. Things are 
pretty bad with me just now. I say, old 
fellow, can you lend me five dollars ? 

Paul. Do what ? 

Jack. L^end me five dollars. I' ve got into 
a deuce of a scrape, — must get it some- 
where. 

Paul. I'm surprised at you. 

Jack. Where should I go to borrow 
money, if not to you ? 

Paul. You misunderstand me, old boy, 
I'd lend it you, if I had it ; but I haven't a 
penny in the world. 

Jack. It's always the way, whenever I 
want to borrow money, I never can get it. 

Paul. It's the same with me. I've 
been half over town to-day. And couldn't 
raise a red. I am nearly worried to death. 
I haven't been so hard up for months. 

Jack. You don't say so ? 

Paul. But I do say so; and I'm being 
dunned for money hourly. 

Jack. You must expect that ; you know 
misfortunes never come singly. 

Paul. Yes, indeed; misfortune must 
be married and have a numerous family, if 
I can judge by the number of times she 
and hers have visited me, for I am sure she 
would be tired out with the number of 
calls she makes at my abode. 

Jack. Can't we raise the wind some- 
where ? 

Paul. I've got nothing. 

Jack. No more have I — only some col- 
6 



lars, and they won't lend anything on half 
worn-out collars. 

Paul. I say. Jack. 

Jack. What ? 

Paul. Ain't it a pity that we haven* t a 
rich old uncle, somewhere or other, who 
would turn up just now — like they do in 
plays — give us a lot of money, say " Bless 
you, be happy!" and make us marry his 
rich ward ? 

Jack. Ah, don't I wish I had such an 
uncle! But I must be off. I've got to 
raise that money before two. Good bye. 

Paul. Good bye — good luck to you ! 

Jack. Hope so. Keep up your pluck ; 
I'll call again shortly. [^Exit^AGK. 

Paul. No news yet from that article I 
sent on to the Pacific Monthly the other 
day ; anybody else would have had the 
money by this . time, and have spent it. 
Well, this won't do ; I must go to work, 
anyway. {Goes to table ^ and begins to arrange 
papers^ It's fortunate that I have some 
ink and paper left ; if I hadn' t those, I 
should be in a plight. {Knocks inkstand 
over,) Goodness gracious ! how careless ! 
There, it's going all over my papers. No, 
it's no good — I can't get any of it up. 
That's nice paper to write on {shows paper 
covered with ink). Now I'm in a nice con- 
dition: no ink, no paper, and no money to 
buy any with. I've half a mind to — {a 
knock is heard at the door) — Come in. 
Enter Mrs. Bobbidge. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. Mr. Smithers, I've come 
for my rent. 

Paul. I am very sorry, Mrs. Bobbidge, 
but I can't pay you to-day. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. But I must have my 
money. 

Paul. I haven't any money, Mrs. Bob- 
bidge. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. If you haven't any 
money, what made you take my room ? 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Paul. When I took your room, I had 
money ; you know I paid you regularly for 
the first six months. 

Mus. BuiJHiDHK. You haven't paid me 
regularly for the last three. 

Pail. I shall have a lot of money soon, 
then ril pay you. 

Mus. BoBBiDGE. I want my room, Mr. 
vSmithers ; and if you don't pay me to-day 
you must leave. 

PAUL. How unreasonable you are, Mrs. 
Bobbidge. A man must live somewhere, 
and I may just as well run into your debt 
as anybody else's. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. It don't make much 
difference to you, but it does to me ; so, if 
you please, Mr. Smithers, get a room else- 
where. 

Paul. But, Mrs. Bobbidge 

Mrs. Bobbidge. Don't Mrs. Bobbidge 
me, if you please, sir. If you don't let me 
have the room to-night, I'll lock up the 
door to-morrow, mind that. 

[^Exit Mrs. Bobbidge. 

Paul. Was there ever such an unfortu- 
nate fellow! Where's that penny, — here it 
is. I'll toss up and see whether I shall 
kill myself or not. It's no use living ; I 
shall never have any good fortune again. 
Here goes. Heads — death ; tails — live. (He 
tosses a pe7iny up in the air^ and catches it, at 
that momeyit a kyiock is heard at the door.) 
Come in. 

Enter a Waiter. 

Waiter. Is this Mr. Smithers' room? 
Paul. Yes ; are you from the restaurant, 

(across the way ? 
Waiter. Yes, sir. 

Paul. Where's that dinner I ordered? 
Waiter. If you please, sir, master says 
he can't let you have any more, till you 
pay up. 

Paul. What! 



Waiter. Master says, he can't let you — 

Paul. I know what your master said. 
Go away, you make me hungry to look at 
you. 

Waiter. Very well, sir. \_Exit Waiter. 

Paul. Was there ever, — no matter, what 
do I want with a dinner, when I'm going 
to kill myself. Let me try again. Heads — 
death; tails — live. {He spins penny again^ a 
knock is heard at the door). Confound that 
door! Come in. 

Enter Postman, with rather a large letter in 
his hand. 

Postman. Mr. Paul Smithers. 

Paul. That's me. 

Postman. Two cents to pay. 

Paul (offerifig to take the letter). I'll owe 
it you. 

Postman. No, you don't. You owe me , 
twenty-four cents already. 

Paul {giving him penny). There's a ] 
penny on account, now let me have it. 

Postman. No, I shan't, till you give 
me the other penny. 

Paul (aside). It's a large package, I 
shouldn't be at all surprised if it contained 
a remittance from the Pacific Monthly. 
(Aloud.) Postman, I nmst have that letter. 

PosTxMAN. But you shan't till you pay 
me the other penny. 

Paul (turning up the sleeves of his coat). 
Postman, give me that letter. 

Postman. I'll call again to-morrow 
with it (going). 

Paul (seiziiig him by the coat-tail). Stay ! 
I am sure that letter contains money ; let 
me open it, then I'll pay you. 

Postman. I won't. 

Paul. You won't! then I'll take it. 
(Paul and the Postman struggle. The 
Postman drops letter^ Paul picks it up tri- 
umphantly). 

Postman. Very well, you, Mr. Smithers, 



PARLOR GAMES. 



88 



I'll have you up for robbing the United 
States Mail. {Exit Postman. 

Paul. Confounded rascal ! wouldn't 
leave the letter without the money, but 
I've done him this time. Now, then, for 
the contents. {Begins to open letter.) I'm 
sure it contains money. It must be from 
the Pacific Monthly. Hullo ! whatt's his,— 
my letters to Julia, — what can be the mean- 
ing of this ;— here's a letter, perhaps that 
will explain it. 

\The letter contained a package of letters^ 
which he holds in his hand ; he opens 
one. 

' ' Sir : Herewith you will receive the 
letters that you have, from time to time, 
addressed to my daughter Julia. You will 
oblige all of us by not sending any more, 
till you hear from us again. I remain, 
yours obediently, John Jones." That's a 
nice letter to receive, instead of money ! 
So Julia is lost to me for ever. Oh ! fickle, 
cruel-hearted Julia ! No matter. Where's 
that cent ? Heads — death ; tails live. 
Dear me, where can it have got to ? I re- 
member now, that wretched postman has 
taken it, and I have not even the mourn- 
ful satisfaction left me, of tossing up a 
copper for life or death. {A knock is heard 
at the door,) Come in. 

Enter Simpson. 

Simpson. Is your name Smithers — Mr. 
Paul Smithers ? 

Paul. It's no good your coming here ; I 
have no money. 

Simpson {smiling). But 

Paul. I tell you it's no good. 

Simpson. My dear sir. 

Paul. I can't pay you ; I haven't any 
money. 

Simpson. I do not want — 

Paul. You are the most indefatigable 



man I ever saw in my life. It's no use 
dunning me ; I'll pay you when I have 
the money. 

Simpson. Will you listen to me ? 

Paul. Yes, I'll listen to you, but you're 
wasting your time ; I haven't any money. 

Simpson. I don't want any money. 

Paul. Why didn't you say so before ? 
I am extremely glad to see you. 

\_Shaking him by the hand. 

Simpson. I have come on a more pleas- 
ant errand, I assure you. 

Paul. Indeed ! well, anything for a 
change. 

Simpson. I have come from my friend, 
Mr. Elliott, whom you know, I believe. 

Paul. Then you want that money he 
loaned me. 

Simpson. On the contrary, I have come 
to offer you a situation under government. 

Paul. You don't say so ? 

Simpson. Mr. Elliott has such a high 
appreciation of your talents, that he has 
obtained for you the position of secretary 
to the ambassador of Otaheite. 

Paul {delighted). My dear sir — 

Simpson. Will you accept it ? 

Paul. With pleasure. 

[Jack pokes his head in at the door. 

Jack. Can I come in ? 

Paul. Yes, certainly. 

Jack {entering). Well, I've been suc- 
cessful. Bateman lent me the money, and 
he gave me this note for you {hands note to 
Paul). He has been out of town, and only 
returned this morning. 

Paul. Excuse me, Mr. — Mr. — 

Simpson. Simpson. Certainly. 

Paul. {Opens letter >j Hurrah ! Bate- 
man has sent me the twenty dollars, and 
apologizes for not sending it before. Bate- 
man's a brick ! 

Jack. Isn't he? 

Paul. Fortune has changed, Jack. Mr. 



84 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Simpson has just oflfered me a situation 
under government. 

Jack. Bravo ! I congratulate you. 

Simpson. I hope Mr. Smithers will find 
it pecuniarily to his advantage. 

[A knock is heard at the door. 

Paul. Come in. 

Enter Mrs. Bobbidge. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. If you please, Mr. 
Smithers, 

Paul. I know what you want, — you 
want your money. 

Mrs. Bobbidge. I should like it, but 
here's a letter for you. {Gives letter. 

Paul. Another letter, — a dun I sup- 
pose. {Opens letter and reads.) Hurrah ! 
Mrs. Bobbidge, let me hug you. {Attempts 
to embrace Mrs. Bobbidge, who repulses 
him) Congratulate me, Jack. Mr. Simp- 
son, you're a trump ; no, I beg pardon, 
youVe a, — you're a,-— I don't know what 
you are. 

[Shakes hands ivith them violently. 

Jack. What's the matter, old boy ? 

Paul. The Pacific has accepted my story, 
and has sent me on a draft for a hundred 
and fifty dollars. Hurrah ! 
[ Waves draft and dances frantically about 
the stage, ~\ 



Simpson. You seem to be fortunate, 
Mr. Smithers. 

Paul. Fortunate! This morning I 
thought I was one of the most unfortunate 
men in the world ; now I think I am the 
most fortunate. 

Jack. Well, you're in luck old fellow. 

Paul. In luck ! I should rather say I 
was. It reminds me of the old adage. It 

what is it, do you know ? I have 

forgotten it. 

Jack. No, — yes, — let me see. It 

oh, I don't know it. 

Paul. Do you know the proverb, Mr. 
Simpson ? 

Simpson. No, I do not. 

Paul. You know it, Mrs. Bobbidge ? 

Mrs. Bobbidge. No, Mr. Smithers, it is 
such a long while since I went to school, 
that really I do not remember it. 

Paul. What shall we do ? None of us 
remember it. Oh ! I have it, (to audience) 
We must leave it to these ladies and gen- 
tlemen. And if any here remember the 
proverb, we shall only be too happy for 
them to tell us it. 

Paul and Mr. Simpson, centre. Jack, 
right. Mrs. Bobbidge, left, 

curtain. 



PROVERB III. 

THERE IS NO ROSE WITHOUT THORNS." 



CHARACTERS. 

Jack Upson, a wealthy young lawyer. 
Rose Thokne, ayoufig lady efigagcd to]kQK. 
Mr. TH0RNE,/2//rrr to Rose. 
Kate, Rose's waiting- maid. 

SCENE — A parlor in MR. Tiiorne's country 
house on Staten Island. 

Jack Upson, Rosk Thorne. 



Jack. I say, my dear, it is too bad. The 
boat is all out of order — leaks dreadfully — 
torn sail — pump broken — everything top- 
sy-turvy! We can't have our sail this 
afternoon, that is plain. 

Rose. Oh ! never mind it. Jack. You 
shall stay and read Tennyson to me in- 
stead. 

Jack. I was afraid you had set your 




THE GAME OF GRYLLO 

THIS CAPITAL GAME IS PLAYED ON THE PRINCIPLE OF DOUBLE-WICKET CRICKET, BUT 

THE BATTING, FIELDING AND BOWLING ARE DONE WITH A LAWN 

TENNIS RACKET INSTEAD OF THE HANDS 





f 



HORSELESS VEHICLES 

HE AUTOMOBILE HAS GROWN RAPIDLY INTO FAVOR. IT AFFORDS A QUICK AND EASY 
MODE OF LOCOMOTION AND IS NOT ONLY SUITABLE FOR RECREA- 
TION, BUT FOR MANY PRACTICAL USES 



jHiU 



PARLOR GAMES. 



85 



heart upon the sail, and would be angry. 
I might have known better, though, you're 
always so kind and good-natured. 

Rose. How could you think I would 
ever be angry with you ? Now, Jack, go 
and bring Tennyson, and read aloud to me 
by this window. 

Jack. Umph! My dear! 

Rose. What is it ? 

Jack. I'm afraid 

Rose. Of what? 

Jack. It is too bad that you should be 
disappointed again ! 

Rose. Disappointed! How, dear Jack ? 

Jack. Why, I left my volume of Tenny- 
son in the city last night. I took it up to 
the office to show Paul a passage we were 
disputing about, and when I returned I was 
in such a hurry that I forgot all about it. 

^OB^ {pettishly). Dear me. {Very blandly) 
Well, well, I'm sorry, but it cannot be 
helped. We will find some other amuse- 
ment. 

Jack. Oh 1 you are so good-tempered ! 
Shall I sing you a song ? 

Rose. Yes, do ; and accompany yourself 
with the guitar. [Rings bell. 

Jack. I am a little hoarse to-day, but I 
guess I can sing something. 

Enter Kate. 

Rose. Katie, child, go to my room and 
bring down the guitar. 

Kate. Yes 'm. {Aside). How mighty 
soft-spoken she is before her husband that 
is to be. He said he was ' ' a little hoarse, " 
but I think he's a little donkey if he marries 
her. [Exit. 

Jack. What shall I sing, dear ? 

Rose. Oh ! anything. All your songs 
are sweet to me. 

Jack. But which do you like best? 

Rose. Do you know, "I Love but 
Thee?" 



Jack. Well, I didn't know it positively, 
but I'm very glad to hear it. 

Rose. No, no! I mean the song of that 
name. 

Jack. Oh! no. I never heard it; but 
here is Kate with the instrument. 

Enter Kate, with guitar. 

Kate. Here it is 'm. 

Rose {with affected sweetness). Give it to 
Mr. Upson, Katie, child. 

Kate {aside). Oh, my ! Butter wouldn't 
melt in her mouth. 

[Gives guitar to Jack, and exit. 

Jack {trying guitar). Oh ! it is terribly 
out of tune. 

[Begins tuning it^ and breaks string. 

Rose. Oh ! How that frightened me ! 

Jack. Too bad again, I declare ! The E 
string has snapped, just in the middle ! 
The ends are too short, and that is the end 
of our music ! 

Rose {aside). How awkward ! {Aloud). 
What a pity! Well, I suppose we must 
find something else to pass away the after- 
noon. 

Jack. Yes. I'll go into the garden for 
some flowers, and you shall arrange a 
bouquet. [Exit. 

Rose. The stupid fellow ! I have no 
patience with him I Here are three dis- 
appointments within an hour, and all his 
fault. I could almost cry. 

Enter Mr. Thorne. 

Thorne. Well, Rosie, I have a pleasure 
for you. 

Rose {pouting). I don't want any pleas- 
ures ! 

Thorne. You don't. You're a strange 
girl! 

Rose. I'm not a strange girl ! 

Thorne. Don't be foolish, Rosie. I have 
got some tickets for the Academy of Music, 



86 



PARLOR GAMES. 



to-night. Don't you want to go with Mr. 
Upson and myself? We can take the six 
o'clock boat, and get to the city just 

Rose. No! I won't go! I hate the 
opera ! I hate Mr. Upson ! 

Thorn K. But, my dear child, you must 
not be so unreasonable. What has hap- 
pened ? 

Rose. Nothing has happened ! I'm not 
unreasonable ! Mr. Upson has insulted 
me — he won't do anything for me — he 
won't take me out sailing, and he won't 
read to me, and he won't sing for me, and 
I don't care a pin for him. I believe he is 
ashamed to be seen with me, because my 
bonnet is so old ! There now! 

Thorne. Nonsense ! He is too sensible 
a young man for that, and besides, I have 
just brought your new bonnet from the 
milliner's. You shall wear it to-night. 
Here, Kate ! [^Calling, 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. What, sir? Did you call? 

Thorne. Yes. Bring the bandbox from 
the sitting-room table. {Exit Kate. 

Now then, here are the tickets for the 
opera — Lucia di Lammermoor is to be per- 
formed. 

Rose. I won't go ! 

Thorne. Then Mr. Upson and I will go 
alone, and you may stay at home ! 

Rose. I won't stay at home ! You shan't 
go away and leave me ! 
[Snatches tickets^ and tears them to pieces. 

Thorne. Rose! What do you mean ? 
You ought to be ashamed of yourself ! 

Enter Kate with bandbox in one hand and a 
bonnet in the other, 

Kate. Oh ! it is such a beauty, mum — 
a real love of a bonnet ! 

Rose. Give it to me this instant ! What 
right have you to open my bandbox, and 



handle my new bonnet with your great 
coarse paws? [seizes bonnet front Kate. 

Thorne. Daughter ! I am really 
ashamed of you ! 

Rose {looking at bofinet). There's a pretty 
thing, now isn't it? Why, I wouldn't be 
seen in such a miserable, cheap affair ! It 
looks like a coal-scuttle ! 

Thorne. Cheap ! It cost thirty dol- 
lars ! I guess if you had to earn your 
own money, you would be very glad to get 
as good a one ! Try it on, and say no 
more about it. 

Rose. I won't try it on. I won't be 
seen in it ! It isn't half so nice as Miss 
Jones's bonnet, and she is only a poor 
school-teacher. 

Thorne. I wish to goodness your tem- 
per was half as good as Miss Jones' ! But 
I tell you, you shall wear that or your old 
one. I'm determined to give you a good 
lesson. Do you hear ? 

Rose. I'll never wear it as long as I 
live ! I'll tear it to pieces first ! 

Thorne. I command you to wear it, 
you ungrateful girl ! 

Rose. And I say I won't ! 
[ Tears bonnet to pieces and tramples it under 
foot, 

Thorne. Stop ! Here, Rose, you 

[She runs off sobbing.^ Was there ever 
such a frightful temper in the world ? 

[Exit. 

Kate. Goodness gracious me ! What 
a flighty creature? Now how much bet- 
ter it would have been to have given me 
that bonnet! (Picks tip the torn bonnet.) 
Just to see — the flowers all torn out of it — 
was there ever ! — the crown all jammed in. 
Who would think to look at her — hallo ! 

Enter ^kQY. Upson, with bunch of roses. 

Jack. What's that you re saying? 
Kate. Nothing, sir, only Miss Rosq 



PARLOR GAMES. 



87 



seems to be a little out of humor — she is 
troubled about something. 

Jack. Poor soul ! she has had enough 
disappointments to vex a saint. It is a 
wonder to me how she keeps her temper ! 

Kate. Yes ; but she canH keep her 
temper ! 

Jack. I don't know how you can say 
that. To me, she seems the most unwaver- 
ingly good-humored girl I ever saw. 

Kate. Yes, sir; that's very likely, to 
you. 

Jack. What do you mean ? 

Kate. Hush ! here she is — I must go. 

{Exit Kate. 

Enter Rose. 

Rose. Dear me ! I declare I never was 
so put out in all my life. I could — {seeing 
Jack). Oh ! my dear, Jack ! what a beau- 
tiful bouquet you have got ! 

Jack. Yes, dear ; but what were you 
saying when you came in ? 

Rose. Nothing, I was only speaking to 
Kate. 

Jack. Here, take these roses, and ar- 
range them. Put this white one in your 
hair. {She takes the roses and admires them) 
Did you see your father. 

I met him in the garden a moment ago, 
as he came up from the boat. 

Rose. No — yes — that is, yes, I saw him 
only a moment. 

Jack. Did he tell you that we were all 
going to the Opera to-night ? 

Rose {aside). What shall I say ? What 
a fool I was to destroy the tickets ! 
{Aloud) Yes, he told me; but I cannot 
go. 

Jack. You cannot ? How is that ? 

Rose. I— I don't feel well enough. I 
think I have a headache. 

Jack {half laughmg). You think you 
have ? Don' t you know ? 



Rose. I mean I am afraid I shall have 
one. {Aside) What does he mean by 
laughing at me ? Never mind ! when 
we're once married, I'll let him laugh, if 
he feels like it then ! 

Jack. Well, well ; make up your bou- 
quet, and if you feel like it, we will go. 
Now excuse me a moment — I wish to see 
your father. {Exit, 

Rose {sitting down and spreading flow- 
ers out on her lap). lyct me see — I want 
some thread to tie up these roses, {flings 
bell) If I could only keep my temper 
until I am Mrs. Upson, I wouldn't care, 
but these odious people do provoke me so 
that I don't know what I'm doing. The 
idea of papa buying me that horrible bon- 
net, and then expecting me to go the 
Opera in it ! {Rings bell with great vio- 
lence.) Where is that huzzy Kate, I won- 
der ? She never answers the bell ! 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. Did you ring, mum. 

Rose {mimicking her) Did you ring, 
mum? Of course I rang? Why can't 
you attend to your duties ? What are you 
hired for, I should like to know ? 

Kate. Indeed 'm, I came just as quick 
as ever I heard the bell. 

Rose. I don't want you to talk — I don't 
want any of your impertinence. If you can't 
attend to my wants, I must find a girl who 
can. Go and get me some thread^ — some 
white thread. 

Kate. Yes'm. 

{Goes towards door. 

Rose. Here, Kate ! 

Kate {stopping). What'm ? 

Rose. Go, this instant ; do you hear ? 
{Exit Kate, angrily.) Seems to me, 
everybody conspires to abuse and neglect 
me ! 

{She sorts out the flowers. 



88 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Enter Mr. Tiiorne, with Jack Upson. 

Mr. Thorne. Yes, I daresay — ah, here 
is Rosie. Now, then, daughter, have you 
quite recovered? 

Rose {looking daggers at Jmn^ but speak- 
ing very softly). Yes, papa, dear, my 
headache is quite gone. 

Enter Kate. 

Kate. Please'ni, I — I can't find any 
thread at all, but here's some string. 

\_Shozc's a quantity of tangled striftgs 
of all si^es. Rose stamps her foot 
and starts up^ but recollecting her- 
self bcco7nes cahn^ with an apparent 
effort. 

Rose. Never mind, Katie, child, I'll 
go and look for it myself. \Exit. 

Jack. I'm glad her headache is gone — 
we shall have a fine time at the Opera. 

Thorne. Eh? 

Jack. I say we will have a fine time at 
the Opera, to-night. 

Tiiorne. Oh, all ! — the Opera ; yes. 

Jack. Certainly — didn't you tell me 
that you had reserved some seats ? 

Tiiorne {mnch ejnbarrassed). Yes — re- 
served seats, to be sure. (Aside.) What 
shall I say? How can I tell him the 
tickets are destroyed? Never mind, I'll 
be honest, and tell him all — even if Rose 
should lose him for ever. 

Jack. What is the matter, sir? 

Tiiorne. Just this : I haven't got any 
Opera tickets. 

Jack. No ! how is that? 

Tiiorne. I had, but they were de- 
stroyed — torn to pieces ! 

Jack. Explain yourself. By whom? 

Tiihrne. By my daughter — by Rose ! 
[Kate lajtghs^ and Jack looks more 
and more puzzled. 

Jack. I don't understand you, sir ! 

Thorne. My daughter, sir, has a most 



ungovernable temper — she is a regular 
virago. There, now ! 

Kate. There never was a truer word, 
sir ! 

Jack. But — you — you astound me ! 
Have I not seen her undergo a dozen disap- 
pointments to-day — a dozen vexations, 
without a sour look or a cross word ? 

Kate. But ah, sir, you should have 
seen her pitch into me when you were 
away ! 

Thorne. Hush, Kate ! It is too true, 
my young friend, that she has so far con- 
cealed her temper before you, for obvious 
reasons, but believe me, yoil will see it, 
when it is too late to avoid the conse- 
quences. 

Jack. What, she, who seems so equa- 
ble, so kind, so forbearing? 

Kate. So fiddle-stick ! 

Jack. So evenly good-natured — in short, 
such an angel ? No ; I can't believe it be- 
fore I see it. I beg your pardon, Mr. 
Thorne, for the suspicion, but I do not 
understand your motives for setting me 
against your daughter — you may have 
some reason — you — 

Thorne. My dear boy, you do me an 
injustice, believe me ! I have told you 
this for your own good, although the 
confession has greatly pained me. Rose 
is a spoiled child, and unworthy of you. 

Jack. But, sir, I nmst not be too hasty. 
I have found her always the same 

Kate. When you was present ! 

Jack. And I never expect to find her 
otherwise. 

Kate. It is easily tested. Step behind 
this window-curtain, and when she comes 
in, you shall hear her. 

Thorne. Yes. That will prove it. I 
hate to humiliate my own daughter thus, 
but I do not wish to be responsible for 
your future misery. 



PARIvOR GAMES. 



89 



Jack. It is hard to play the spy upon 
one's own betrothed, but I owe it to her 
and myself, so here goes. 

]^Cojtceals himself behind curtain. 

Kate. Just in time, for here she comes ! 

E7ite.r Rose, with thread. 

Rose {gla^icing about.) Where is that 
Mr. Upson ? 

Thorne. Humph, — he is — he — is — 

Kate. In the garden 'm ? 

Rose. Ah ! he is always here when I 
don't want him, and away when I do ! I 
want him to help me wind this thread. {To 
Kate.) Now, then, where were your eyes ? 
You seem to be blind as well as deaf ! The 
thread was in my basket, on the table, 
right in plain sight, and anybody but an 
idiot would have seen it ! Here, help me 
wind it — no, you're too clumsy for any- 
thing — go about your business ! 

\Picks up flowers^ and arranges them. 

Thorne. Daughter! that temper of yours 
is getting you into trouble. 

[Kate laughs. 

Rose. What do you want to talk to me 
so much about my temper for ? Do you 
expect me to put up with everything ? 
Now see that good-for-nothing girl laugh- 
ing ! Get out of my sight ! Go, or I'll 
box your ears ! 

[Kate laughs still louder. 

Thorne (ironically). Go on — go on ! 
Don't mind her, Kate. You are making a 
very pretty exhibition of yourself. Miss 
Rose. 

Rose (extravagantly angry). Do you take ' 



sides against your own daughter, with a 
common servant-girl ? My conscience ! I 
shall faint — hold me ! (Tears bouquet to 
pieces.^ and throws flowers at Kate andM.^. 
Thorne.) I won't stay in the house — I 
won't ! 

Thorne. Would you like Mr. Upson to 
see you now ? 

Rose. Who cares for him ? He's a good- 
for-nothing, hateful, odious old 

Jack (coming from behind curtaht). Old 
what ? 

[Rose screams ajtd throws herself back- 
ward. Mr. Thorne catches her. 

Kate and Thorne. Are you satisfied ? 

Jack. Yes ; and more, too. I beg leave 
to wish Miss Rose a very good evening, 
and to thank you, Mr. Thorne, for having 
so generously undeceived me. It was well 
I should know all. Good bye. \_Exit. 

Rose (raishig her head). Where is he? 

Thorne. Gone, and for ever. 

Kate. And I shall follow his example, 
to-morrow. 

Rose (suddenly springing up). Well, let 
him go ! What do I care for him ? (Look- 
ing at her hands.) I'm only sorry that he 
gave me those roses ; I have torn my hands 
all to pieces with the thorns. (To Kate.) 
What are you staring at there ? Go along ! 

Kate (turning to audience). I'm wonder- 
ing what all these good folks think of you ? 

Thorne (to audie^tce). Ladies and gen- 
tlemen, you must excuse my daughter. 
She is a good girl at heart ; but she has 
such a temper ? 

curtain. 



PROVERB IV. 



"'TIS AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD." 



CHARACTERS. 

John Boniface, landlord of a country hotel. 

Michael, an Irish waiter, 

Mr. Croesus. 

Paul Edmonds. 

Mrs. Myrtle. 

Fannie Myrtle, her daughter, 

SCENE — A parlor in a hotel on the Hudson. 
Window at back. 

Boniface discovered looking out of window. 
Michael dtisting chairs^ &c. 

Boniface. Hullo! there's another pleas- 
ure party landing. Of course they're not 
coming here. Oh, no, there's a carriage 
waiting for them. Of course they're going 
to the Belle Vue House, top of the hill, 
nobody ever comes here. Well, there's one 
consolation, we're going to have a shower 
soon, and as it's an open carriage, they'll 
get wet through before they get there. 

Michael. And who'll be afther gettin' 
wet, sur? 

Boniface. Those carriage folks. Yes, 
there it goes along the road, past my 
house, of course. Michael, you may as 
well shut up the house, nobody ever comes 
here. 

Michael, Aisy now about shuttin' up 
the house ; — do you think I'd be afther 
losing my place now. Git out wid you. 

Boniface. Here it is at last ; bless me 
how it comes down. Did you ever see such 
rain? Michael, go and shut the up-stairs' 
windows. 

Michael. An' shure I will, sur. 

[^Exit Michael. 

Boniface. Well, here I am, with ruin 
staring me in the face. There never was 
90 



such an unlucky fellow. I've tried all 
manner of dodges to draw customers. I've 
had sea serpents, and wild women out of 
number, yet they won't draw. I've half a 
mind to open a free hotel, and get rid of 
my stock that way. 

Enter Michael, hurriedly. 

Michael. I knew they'd be afther com- 
in' this time, anyhow. 

Boniface. Who's coming? 

Michael. Why them folks, who passed 
by just now, here in a carriage. 

Boniface. What ! coming here ? 

Michael. Yis, an' didn't I till yez so in- 
tirely ? 

Boniface. Here they are ; now Michael, 
bustle about, and get things in order. I'll 
go out and receive them. \Exit Boniface. 

Michael. Sure now, it's a mighty nice 
piece of luck that shower was, that's 
bringin' those jintale people here, where 
there's plinty, and niver a bit of stint. 

Enter Boniface, followed by Mr. Crcesus, 
Paul Edmonds, Mrs. Myrtle arid Fan- 
nie. The gentle7iten have their coat 
collars turned up. The ladies have their 
handkerchiefs over th^ir bo^inets. 

Boniface. This way, ladies. 

Crcesus. What a sudden shower! I am 
afraid you got wet, ladies. 
[ The ladies brush the rain off their clothes ; the 
gentlemen do the same7\ 

Mrs. Myrtle. Not very ! It was for- 
tunate we were so near shelter. 

Paul. Exceedingly so. Can I assist 
you, Miss Myrtle ? 

Fannie. Thank you., 



PARLOR GAMES. 



91 



[Hands Paul her handkerchiefs with which 

he wipes her mantilla. 

Mrs. Myrtle {taking the handkerchief 
from Paul). Don't trouble yourself, Mr. 
Edmonds— I'll assist my daughter. 

Boniface. There's a dressing-room up- 
stairs—would the ladies like to go to it ? 

Mrs. Myrtle. Yes, if you please. 

Boniface [calling off), Mary, show these 
ladies to the dressing-room. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Come, Fannie. 
\_Exeunt Mrs. Myrtle and Fannie. 

Crcesus. I say, Edmonds, we may as 
well lunch here — eh ? 

Edmonds. It was merely a passing 
shower — see, it is holding up already. 

Boniface. We have every accommoda- 
tion, sir. 

Michael. Sorra bit of a lie is that. 

Crcesus. This seems a comfortable 
place, and we shall have another shower 
directly, so I think we had better stay 
where we are. 

Michael. My sintimints to a T. 

Edmonds. As you like. I am agreeable 
to anything. 

Crcesus. Landlord, can we have lunch 
here? 

Boniface. Certainly, sir. 

CR(esus. Well, then, prepare us a nice 
lunch for four. 

Michael. Good luck to ye. May the 
hair of your head be hung with diamonds. 

Boniface. Come with me, Michael, I 
shall want your assistance. 

Michael. Arrah, now, an' ain't I the 
boy to help you ? 

\Exeunt^Qim^KQ.^ ^/^^ Michael. 

CR(ESUS [looking out of window). They 
seem to have nice grounds here. It has 
left off raining — let us take a stroll round. 

Paul. Well, I have no objection. 

\Exeunt Paul an4 Crgesus, 



Enter Mrs. Myrtle aud Fannie. 

Mrs. Myrtle. It is of no use talking, 
Fannie ; I am exceedingly angry with you. 

Fannie. But, mamma ! 

Mrs. Myrtle. I have noticed it, all the 
way from New York. You let Mr. Ed-^ 
monds pay you a great deal too much at-' 
tention. 

Fannie. But I can't help it, mamma. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Yes, you can ; you ought 
not to receive them. The idea of letting 
Mr. Edmonds wipe your mantilla. Why 
didn't you let Mr. Croesus do it? 

Fannie. Mr. Croesus never offered to. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Well, then, why didn't 
you make him ? You know that Mr. Ed- 
monds hasn't a penny in the world, and 
that Mr. Crcesus is as rich — as — as — oh, 
you know he is ever so rich ; yet you go on 
in this way, 

Fannie. I am sorry, mamma, and I'll 
try not to let Mr. Edmonds wipe my man- 
tilla again. 

Mrs. Myrtle (kissing her). There's a 
good child. Now go and see if you can 
find Mr. Crcesus in the garden, and be 
agreeable to him. 

Fannie. Very well, mamma. (Aside.) 
Oh, what will Paul say ? [Exit Fannie. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Now, if Fannie only 
plays her cards well, she will in all proba- 
bility, be Mrs. Croesus, and ride in her 
own carriage. Of course, I shall live with 
her. Yes, that's settled — 111 live with her. 

Enter Crcesus. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Ah, Mr. Croesus, have 
you seen, Fannie? 

Croesus. No, I have not. 

Mrs. Myrtle. She this moment went 
into the garden. Ah, Mr. Croesus, you 
have no idea what a good girl she is. 

Crcesus. I am extremely happy to 
hear it 



92 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Mrs. Myktlk. I hardly know what I 
shall do when I lose her ; for I snppose 
some of you naughty men will be soon 
robbing me of her. 

CutEsrs. When daughters are hand- 
some, Mrs. Myrtle, we must expect such 
things. 

Mrs. Myrtle. She is so kind, so con- 
siderate, she never gives me a moment's 
uneasiness. (Paul and Fannie are seen 
through the window crossing the stage^ 
talking earnestly together. (Aside.) With 
that Mr. Edmonds again ! I must put a 
stop to that. (Aloud.) There goes my 
dear child. Excuse me for a minute, Mr. 
Croesus. [Exit Mrs. Myrtle. 

Crcesus. Strange woman that ; what in 
the world can she be driving at ? How- 
ever, ril go and see how the landlord is 
getting on with the lunch. 

[Exit Crcesus. 

Enter Paul. 

Paul. Confound that Mrs. Myrtle. I 
can't be alone with Fannie a moment but 
she must poke her stupid old head in, and 
spoil our tete-a-tete. Pve half a mind to — 

no, I hav'n't — yes — no . 

\Reiis his chin upon his hand as though lost in 

meditation. 

Enter Crcesus, who walks up to Paul and taps 
him on the hack. Paul starts. 

Crcesus. What's the' matter, Edmonds, 
my boy ? What are you dreaming about? 
Are you in love or in debt, which ? 

Paul. Ah ! yes — no. Excuse me. 

[IValks off rapidly. 

Crcest's. Hullo ! what's the matter 
with the man, I wonder? He's in love, I 
suppose ; but it's nothing to do with me. 
There's one consolation though — lunch is 
coming on finely. Really that fellow has 
a capital idea of what's good. We must 
patronize him for tlie future. 



Eftter Mrs. Myrtle a7td Fannie. 

Mrs. Myrtle. You here, Mr. Croesus? 
I thought you were in the garden. Fan- 
nie and I have just been taking a walk 
round the grounds. 

Fannie. Yes, and we have seen such a 
dear little lot of pigs. Such tiny ones, no 
bigger than kittens. 

Crcesus. Indeed ! they must be inter- 
esting. But where is Edmonds ; have you 
seen him in the garden ? 

Mrs. Myrtle (aside). A good excuse to 
leave them together. (Aloud.) I will go 
and see if I can find him. 

Fannie. Shall I come too, mamma ? 

Mrs. Myrtle. No, my dear ; the ground 
is damp, and you may catch cold. I shan't 
be long. [Exit Mrs. Myrtle. 

Croesus. We are going to have — by the 
way, I had nearly forgotten it ; I must mix 
the salad myself. Excuse me, Miss 
Myrtle. [Exit Crcesus. 

Fannie. I wonder where Paul can be ; 
he has kept away from me all day. I'll be 
quite angry with him when I see him, 
and tell him that mamma says I am to 
have nothing more to do with him. 
Enter Paul, with his hands in his pockets^ looking 

extremely dejected. On seeing Fannie, he 

runs forward, takes her by the hand and 

shakes it. 

Paul. My dear Fannie ! 

Fannie. There, there, that will do ; 
you need not shake my hand off, sir. 
Where have you been all this while, sir ? 

Paul. I have been looking for you, 
Fannie. 

Fannie. A pretty excuse, indeed ! You 
could not have looked very far. 

Paul. Do not be angry, Fannie. 

[Endeavors to take her hand. 

Fannie. Leave my hand alone, sir. 
You have shaken hands with me once 
already. 




CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES SUGGESTED FOR CHILDREN IN 
JUVENILE ENTERTAINMENTS 

1. LADY OF THE MANOR 2. THE MERRY CHINESE 3. THE WORK BASKET 4. QUEEN 

OF GOLDEN HAIR 5. MARCHIONESS DRESS (LOUIS IX) 6. IRISH BOY 7. FOLLY 

8. SIR WALTER RALEIGH 9. SPANISH BULL-FIGHTER 10. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD 



at ^'c^.mr 




CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES SUGGESTED FOR CHILPREN IN 
JUVENILE ENTERTAINMENTS 



PARLOR GAMES. 



93 



Paul. Why are you so cool, Fannie? 
Why do you speak this way to me ? 

Fannie. Mamma says I must not talk 
to you so much. 

Paul. Oh ! I see how it is : I'm poor, 
Mr. Croesus is rich. 

Fannie. That is an unkind remark, sir. 
Hush, here comes mamma. 

Paul. May I hope ? 

Fannie. While there's life there's 
hope. 

Enter Mrs. Myrtle. 

Fannie. Ah, mamma. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Where's Mr. Croesus? 

Fannie. He just this moment left the 
room. 

Paul. Yes, he left the room this mo- 
ment. 

Enter Michael. 

Michael. Where will ye be havin' it 
laid, here or in the garden ? 

Mrs. Myrtle . Having what laid ? 

Michael. Shure, an aint it the table- 
cloth I mane ? 

Paul. Oh ! you mean the tablecloth? 

Michael. Wisha, now, d'ye see that? 
As though ye did'nt know it. 

Paul. What do you say, ladies ? 

Mrs. Myrtle. What does Mr. Croesus 
say? 

Paul (aside). Confound Mr. Croesus. 

Michael. He bade me ask the ladies ; 
and bless 'em ! says Michael O'Grady. 

Fannie. lyct us lunch here, mamma; 
this is a very pleasant room. 

Michael. Pleasant ! by the powers, it's 
a perfect paradise, now your ladyship's in it. 

Paul. We can dispense with compli- 
ments, my good fellow ; so look sharp, and 
lay the cloth. 

Michael. Yes, sur, I'm the boy that'll 
do it immadiately. \Exit Michael. 



Fannie. What a strange man he appears 
to be. 

Paul. Yes; if he hadn't a brogue, I 
should have known him for an Irishman, 
by the compliments he paid you, ladies. 

Enter Crcesus. 

. Crcesus. Well, lunch is nearly ready, 
and really, I must beg your pardon, ladies, 
but I have countermanded your order, and 
lunch will be served in a room overlooking 
the river. A much pleasanter room, I 
assure you. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Anywhere you like, Mr. 
Croesus. 

Paul. Suppose, while we' re waiting for 
lunch, we pass the time with a dance. 

Fannie. Oh, that will be nice. 

Crcesus. A capital idea. Mrs. Myrtle, 
will you allow me the pleasure ? 

[Mrs. Myrtle co-wr^esies, and lie takes her for 
partner. 

Paul. Fan — I beg pardon, Miss Myrtle, 
will you honor me with your hand ? 

\She gives it. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Sir ! 

Paul. For the dance, I mean. 

Mrs. Myrtle. Oh! 

\Tlie musie strikes up, and they form them- 
selves for a quadrille. As they are dancing, 
Michael enters, with a tray of plates, 
dishes, etc. He looks at them a minute, 
then drops the tray, rushes into the midst 
of them, and begins an Irish jig. They 
disperse in confusion. 

Enter Boniface, who, on seeing Michael 
dancing, runs up to him, and after some slight 
difficulty stops him. 

Boniface. What are you doing? what 
do you mean by this conduct ? 

Michael. Mane, is it? Aint I enter- 
tainin' the illegant company for you ? 

Boniface. You rascal ! if you don't 



94 



PARLOR GAMES. 



finish setting that table, I'll discharge you 
this instant. 

Michael. Och! be asy now, an' aint it 
miself, that's going to do it ? 

[Picks up tray and broken crockery, and exit. 

Boniface. I hope, ladies and gentlemen, 
you are not offended at my servant's rude- 
ness. 

Croesus. Not at all, at least I am not. 
But I certainly should advise you to get a 
waiter who wasn't quite so eccentric. 

Fannie. Shall we finish our dance? 

Paul. By all means. Come. 

Eftter Michael. 

Michael. If ye plaze, leedies and jintil- 
men, lunch is ready. 

Boniface. This way, if you please. 
[Boniface leads the way, Crcesus offers his 
arm to Fannie. Paul offers his arm to 
Mrs. Myrtle, and exeunt. 
Michael. Faith, and troth, it's an ille- 
gant company we've here to-day. Och ! 
mavourneen, what a purty face the young 
lady has, an' her bright eyes do you good 
to look on 'em. 

Bo^iFACE{ca//m£' of). Michael, Michael, 
where are you ? 

Michael (calling). Isn't it here I am? 
Boniface (calling off). Come here. 
Michael. Yes, sur, I'm comin'. 

[Runs off, 

E7iter Fannie. 
Fannie (looking about stage). Where can 
my handkerchief be, I wonder ? I am sure 
I had it when I was dancing. 

Enter Paul. 
Paul. What are you looking for? 
Fannie. My handkerchief. 
Paul. I have also lost something. 
Fannie. What? 
Paul. My heart ! 
Fannie. Your heart? 



Paul. Yes, Fannie, my heart. Oh ! 
Fannie, I cannot — cannot go on this way 
any longer. Tell me, — pray, tell me, — 
yea, I implore you to tell me that I am not 
indifferent to you. 

Fannie. Who said you were ? 

Paul. Nay, do not trifle with me. 

Fannie. Well then, — well then, — you 
are not indifferent to me. 

Paul. What rapture ! 

Mrs. Myrtle {calling off). Fannie, — 
Fannie ! 

Fannie. Hush! here's mamma. I won- 
der where my handkerchief can have got to? 
[Paul ^;/<^ Fannie look about the stage ^ 
anxiously. 

Enter Mrs. Myrtle. 

Mrs. Myrtle. What are you doing, 
Fannie ? Lunch is waiting. 

Fannie. I am looking for my handker- 
chief, mamma. 

Enter Croesus. 
Croesus. Here you all are, — eh ? I have 
come to look after you. Lunch has been 
waiting for you this last quarter of an hour. 

Enter Boniface, followed by Michael. 

Boniface. Really this is too bad ; as a 
man who takes an interest in his business, 
I protest against it. Here, the lunch has 
been waiting more than twenty minutes, 
and everything is oretting cold. 

Michael. Yis, an' so is the champagne. 

Croesus. We can understand your feel- 
ings upon the subject, Mr. Boniface, and 
appreciate the manner in which you have 
attended to us. So much so indeed, that 
for the future, we shall always come here, 
and recommend our friends to do the same. 

Boniface. If the shower has robbed the 
Belle Vue House of some customers, it has 
done me some good. 

Croesus. How? 



PARLOR GAMES. 



95 



Boniface. Did it not drive you here for 
shelter, and have you not promised me 
your patronage for the future ? 

Michael. Arrah ! good luck to the 
shower, that sent ye here. 

Paul (aside). And so say I; I have 
gained a wife by it. 

Fannie {aside). And mamma has lost a 
daughter. 

Croesus. Come, let us give the lunch 
another trial. 



[Boniface goes off, followed by Paul, 
Fannie, Crcesus, a7id Mrs. Myrtle. 
Michael {^o audience). I^eedies and jin- 
tilmen, would ye oblige me, by laving me 
your address. lyong life to you, I know ye 
will. The rason I wants to know, my dar- 
lints, is, in case I should lave this situa- 
shun. For isn't it thrue to all of ye, that 
I make a fust rate sarvent, an' any of ye 
would employ me ? 

CURTAIN. 




ACTING CHARADES 




CTING Charades is a 
very popular 
amusement : 
All persons 
know how 
Charades are 
got up, — old 
clothes, hats, 
shawls, etc. , 
serving for 
cos tu m es; 
chairs, ta^le^, etc. , with or without scenery 
and accessories. These Charades are of 
, various kinds : those performed entirely in 
dumb show, are called Pantomime Char- 
ades : Acting Charades, when the speakers 
either study the words of their several parts, 
or give them impromptu ; and little plays 
and farces. Proverbs, Burlesques, or 
Dramas. 

We give specimens, though it is by no 
means necessary to follow out our model too 
strictly. Clever folks can make plays for 
themselves. In the Charade, a word of two 
or more syllables is acted, either in panto- 
mime or by dialogue, each syllable form- 
ing a scene. The players choose a word or 
sentence, each part of which should have a 
separate meaning, and when they have 
played it out, the audience guess its in- 
terpretation. 

When the Charades are short, new actors 
can be selected from the company, and at 
the conclusion the word represented is 
guessed at in the same way as an ordinary 
riddle. 

96 



We subjoin a list of words appropriate 
for either Acting or Pantomime Charades : 



Ad(d)-dress. 

A-gin-court. 

Air-gun. 

Air-pump. 

Alarm-bell(e). 

Ant-e-lope. 

Arrow-root. 

Back-gammon. 

Back-ground. 

Balling-tub. 

Band-box. 

Bank-quet(wet). 

Before-hand. 

Bell-man. 

Break -fast. 

Bride-cake. 

Bull-rush. 

Cab-i-net. 

Cap-rice. 

Cat-call. 

Chap-fallen. 

Club-foot. 

Court-ship. 

Cross-bow. 

Cross-patch. 

Crumb-cloth. 

Dead-level. 

Dice-box. 

Dog-ma-tic. 

Dog-rose. 

Draw-bridge. 

Drop-stone. 

Eye-glass. 

Eye-lash. 

Fag-end. 

Fan-light. 

Fare-well. 

Farm-house. 

Father-in-law. 

Fish-slice. 

F'oot-man. 

Foot-pad. 



Free-hold, 

Game-cock. 

Game-keeper. 

Garden-stuflF. 

Grand-child. 

Grand-father. 

Hard-ware. 

Heads-man. 

Heir-at-law. 

Heir-loom. 

Horse-chest-nut. 

Horse-man-ship. 

I-doll(idol). 

Imp-pas, I-bell. 

In(n)-different. 

Jack-boots. 

Jack-pudding. 

Jew-ill (jewel). 

Kid-napper. 

King-craft. 

Lady-bird. 

Lady-day. 

Leap-frog. 

Livery-man. 

Love-apple. 

Madcap. 

Make-peace. 

Mar-gate. 

Mar-shall. 

Melting-pot. 

Mend-I-can't. 

Milk-maid. 

Miss-under-stand. 

News-monger. 

Night-in-gale. 

Night-shade. 

Novel-ties. 

Out-pour. 

Out-rage. 

Out-side. 

Over-shadow. 

Pack-cloth. 



PARLOR GAMERS. 



97 



Pack-thread. 


Rap-sc(a)ullion. 


Ten-an-try. 


War-den. 


Paper-maker. 


Rope-walk. 


Tide-waiter. 


Watch-guard. 


Pen-man-ship. 


Rope-yarn. 


Toll-house. 


Watch -man. 


Penny-weight. 


Safe-guard. 


Tow-line. 


Water-butt. 


Pen-wiper. 


Sail-maker. 


Up-braid. 


Water-fall. 


Pop-gun. 


Sauce-box. 


Up-roar. 


Way-bill. 


Powder-box. 


Sweet- bread. 


Up-shot. 


Wheel-bar-row 


Quarrel-some. 


Sweet-heart. 


Up-start. 


Yoke-fellow. 


Quarter-staff. 


Table-talk. 


Vat-i-can. 


Young-ster. 


Quick-witted. 


Tea-board. 


Waist-coat. 


Youth-full. 


Rabbit-warren. 


Tell-tale. 


Walking-stick, 


Zebra-wood. 


Rain-bow. 









MIS(S)-CELL-ANY. 

A PANTOMINE CHARADE IN FOUR ACTS. 



DRAMATIS PKRSONiE. 

An Old Gfntleman. 

A Young I^ady, his daughter. 

Two Boys, (his sons^ aged about ten and 

twelve^, 

A Young Gentleman (their tutor). 
A Fashionable-dressed Pickpocket. 
A Policeman. A Jailer. A Shopwoman. 

Costumes. — Modern, suited to Characters, 
(R) for right entrance ; (h) for left ; (C) for 

centre. 

ACT I.— MISS. 

Scene : Supposed to represent a country lane. 

Enter (I^).— Tutor and liis two Pupils, 
with drawing materials. Under their 
Tutor's direction the boys commence 
sketching. The Tutor then seats himself 
on a stile or rustic seat, and becomes ab- 
sorbed in a book. The boys cease 
sketching, play about a little while, and 
then observing Tutor's abstraction, they 
exit (R) leaving drawing materials on the 
ground. 

Enter Young I^ady (R) in walking cos- 
tume ; she carries a large bouquet in her 
hand. Tutor looks up from his book, ap- 
pears pleased at seeing Young I^ady, and 
rises. Both advance and shake hands 
7 



cordially. Tutor expresses admiration of 
flowers, and Young I^ady selects one from 
her bouquet and carefully commences to 
place it in the button-hole of his coat. 
Tutor places his right hand lovingly on 
young lady's shoulder. While they are in 
this position — 

Enter Old Gentleman (L) ; he observes 
attitude of his daughter and Tutor, and 
appears highly incensed, and strikes the 
end of his cane savagely on the ground. 
The young folks start asunder, and the 
flower falls to the ground. The Old Gen- 
tleman then fiercely motions the Young 
lyady to retire, which she does (Iv), gazing 
beseechingly at Tutor. The Old Gentle- 
man paces stage, takes snuff" savagely, and 
blows his nose with large silk handker- 
chief. He then observes drawing ma- 
terials, and angrily dispatches the Tutor 
(R) to look after his pupils. He then 
shakes his cane, and gesticulates wildly 
after his daughter and the Tutor alter- 
nately. As he is doing so — 

Enter Pickpocket (R), who abstracts 
Old Gentleman's handkerchief from his 
coat-pocket, as he passes, and goes out (L) 
unseen by Old Gentleman, who now takes 
snuff" again, sneezes, feels for handker- 
chief, misses it, feels all his pockets, takes 



98 



PARLOR GAMES. 



out his snuff-box, spectacles, long purse, 
etc., shakes his head, repockets articles, 
hurriedly placing his purse in coat-tail 
pocket, and goes out (R). 

Re-enter TrTou and Pupils (R.) — Tutor 
evidently annoyed, signs to boys to collect 
their drawing apparatus, which they do, 
and exeunt (L). 

Re-enter Old Gentleman (R.) with Po- 
liceman. — He indicates to Policeman that 
his handkerchief has been stolen. Police- 
man looks wise, and scratches his head 
mysteriously. Then — 

Re-enter Pickpocket (L). — He starts on 
seeing the Policeman, but commands him- 
self, saunters leisurely forward, and, in 
dumb show, inquires the way. As Police- 
man is pointing (R), the Pickpocket ab- 
stracts a plate, knife, fork, and a huge 
piece of cold meat from Policeman's 
pockets. 

The Pickpocket then, apparently, makes 
further inquiries. Old Gentleman points 
off (R), and as he does so, the Pickpocket 
steals the Old Gentleman's purse, but lets 
it fall accidentally on the ground. Ivudic- 
rous incident of the Pickpocket holding 
cold meat, etc., behind him with one 
hand, and, as he keeps up a dumb-show 
conversation, making futile attempts to 
pick up the purse, unseen by its owner or 
Policeman. He is at last, however, obliged 
to bow himself off backwards (R), leaving 
the purse where he had dropped it. 

The Old Gentleman and the Policeman 
then return to their deliberations. The 
Policeman holds out his hand, indicating 
that money will be required, to enable 
him to find the thief. The Old Gentle- 
man feels for his purse, misses it, turns 
out all his pockets rapidly in succession, 
and walks stage wildly. Policeman feels 
his coat-pockets, and looks exceedingly 
chapfallen at the loss of his provisions. 



The Policeman then sees the purse on 
the ground, draws the Old Gentleman's 
attention to it, picks it up, hands it to him, 
and signifies that he must have dropped it 
accidentally. The Old Gentleman strongly 
repudiates this notion. Then Policeman 
looks off (L), points, places his finger on 
his lip, takes purse, and replaces it on the 
stage, after which both steal back hur- 
riedly and hide themselves. 

Enter Tutor (L), looking on the ground 
for the flower which was dropped early in 
the scene ; he spies purse, and hastily 
picks it up. The Policeman and the Old 
Gentleman come quickly down, and seize 
the Tutor, who, somewhat annoyed and 
astonished, flings them off. A scuflfle en- 
sues, during which — 

Enter Pickpocket (R). — Policeman beck- 
ons him to assist ; he does so, and the 
Tutor is overpowered and handcuffed. 
The Pickpocket then adroitly places the 
Old Gentleman's stolen handkerchief in 
the Tutor's pocket. 

Enter Young Lady (L). — She rushes to 
the Tutor, starts back on seeing the hand- 
cuffs, and looks inquiringly at her father. 
The Tutor signifies that he was looking 
for the flower, which he now sees and 
picks up. Policeman pockets the purse, 
which the Pickpocket abstracts, the Tutor 
meanwhile gesticulates his innocence. The 
Old Gentleman forcibly draws his now 
weeping daughter aside. The Policeman, 
at the instigation of the Pickpocket, 
searches the Tutor, and produces the 
handkerchief, which the Old Gentleman 
recognizes as the one stolen. 

Tableau. — Scene closes. 

Positions : (R) Young Lady, Old Gentle- 
man, Tutor, 
Policeman, Pickpocket, (L). 



PARLOR GAMES. 



99 



ACT IL— CEIylv. 

Scene : A prison cell; everything has a bare and 

mean appearance ; a three-legged table and stool 

on the stage. 

The Tutor is discovered seated (C) on a 
low stool, his elbows resting on his knees, 
and his face buried in his hands. Enter 
Jailer, bearing the traditional jug of water 
and loaf, which he places on the table. 

The Tutor looks up for a moment, and 
the Jailer signs to him that some one is 
coming to see him. The prisoner resumes 
his former attitude, and the Jailer goes 
out, locking the door after him. 

After a short pause, the door is reopened, 
and Young Lady rushes in. The Tutor 
rises, and clasps her in his arms. She 
gently releases herself as her Father en- 
ters, followed by Jailer, Policeman, and 
Pickpocket handcuffed. The Policeman 
smiles, points to the open door, and then 
to the Tutor, signifying that he is free. 
Then he scowls, exhibits purse, and points 
to handcufifed Pickpocket, indicating that 
this is the real criminal. The Old Gentle- 
man shakes hands with the Tutor, and 
then joins the hands of his daughter and 
the injured innocent. 

Tableau. — Scene closes. 
Positions: — (R) Old Gentleman, Young 
lyADY, Tutor. 
Jailer, Policeman, Pick- 
pocket, (ly). 



ACT III.— ANY. 

Scene : A school-room ; maps on the wall, etc. 

The released Tutor and his two pupils 
are discovered at work. The elder works 
steadily on, but the other pushes his book 
aside, and stares idly aiound him. Their 
father enters, nods kindly to the Tutor, 
and then, by signs, urges the idler to re- 
sume his work ;,but. he only pouts, and 
L.orC. 



pushes his work farther from him. The 
Old Gentleman and the Tutor look ex- 
tremely annoyed. 

The elder boy having now finished his 
task, brings his work to Tutor, who ex- 
amines it, and expresses his approval by 
patting his pupiPs head. The Old Gen- 
tleman goes out, and returns immediately, 
with a plate of oranges. The disobedient 
pupil reaches out his hand for one, but his 
father shakes his head, and offers the plate 
to his eldest son, who deliberates as to 
which of the oranges he ought to take. 
His father signifies, by gesture, that he 
may take any he chooses. He then takes 
one, and 

Scene closes. 



ACT IV.— MIS-SELL-ANY— (MISCEL- 
LANY). 

Scene: Interior of a bookseller^ s shop. Books, 
papers, etc., displayed on an improvised counter, 
for which an oblong table may do duty. 



A pert Young Shopwoman is discovered 
behind the counter. Enter the Old Gen- 
man and his diligent son. The Old Gen- 
tleman signifies that he requires a book as 
a present for his son. The Shopwoman 
shows him an assortment. [Any books from 
the library will do.] He puts on his spec- 
tacles, examines them, and despairing of 
making a selection, refers, by signs, to the 
Shopwoman, as to which she recommends. 
She points to the books, indicating that he 
must make his own choice. 

The Old Gentleman then brings his son 
forward, to allow him to choose for him- 
self. The youth immediately pounces on 
a volume, and waves it over his head glee- 
fully. The Old Gentleman takes out his 
purse, and pays the Shopwoman, as 
Scene closes. 

\ 



MEND-I-CANT. 

AN ACTING OR DIALOGUE CHARADE IN FOUR ACTS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
Mr. Edwward Seymour. 
Colonel Seymour. 
Mrs. Emily Seymour. 
Maria, her maid. 
Brown, the btitler. 



ACT L— MEND-. 
Mrs. Seymour's dressing-room. Flowers and 
greenhouse plants ranged about. Maria seated 
on a low stool, repairing a torn lace veil. 

Maria. — Well, people may talk as they 
will about black slaves. Slaves, indeed ! 
look at ine ; expected by my lady to do 
everything for her. Did ever anybody 
see such a jagged rent as this? and she 
will expect to see the veil look as good as 
new ; and then to get her lunch, wash the 
lap-dog, renew the flowers, and get the 
carriage properly heated. Well, mend I 
can't, nor won't. A pretty bargain Mr. 
Seymour made when he married her for 
the money she is always telling him about. 
But he is as bad as she is, with his fine 
talk. And don't I see that while they are 
both as smooth as oil with their grand, 
rich, old uncle, they wish him in his cofiin ! 
Ah ! here he comes.. 

Enter Colonel Seymour. — Where's my 
niece — my pretty gentle Emily ? I wish 
to bid her good morning before I set out 
on my ride. 

Maria. — My lady never rises so early as 
this, sir. 

Col. S. — Very bad plan : people should 
always rise with the sun. There — there 
goes my glove. Mend it, my good girl. I 
would not trouble you, but I am in a 
hurry to be out, but whew {whistles) how 
can >ou live in this atmosphere ? I can't 
100 



stand this heat ; I must open the window^ 
my little woman. {Opens a window^ 

Maria. — Oh, sir, how refreshing the air 
is ! but I fear my lady will be displeased. 
She insists on the window being at all 
times shut. 

CoL. S. — Poor thing ! — poor thing ! quite 
a mistake ! I must see her doctor. (Maria 
sighs deeply)^ Why do you sigh, my good 
girl ? Have you any fears about my dear 
niece's health ? 

Maria. — Oh, no, sir ; she is in excellent 
health, I am sorry I sighed, sir, — I was 
only thinking about my unhappy self. I 
ask your pardon, sir. I only wish there 
were more like you ; and sew your glove I 
will, that I am determined, though I 
should be discharged on the spot for not 
having finished mending her veil. I know 
very well what she will say, sir, if she 
orders a thing to be done, and it isn't done. 

CoL. S. — Well, that is certainly a vexa- 
tion ; but you need not dread her words, 
child they are so few — so soft and sweet. 

Maria. — No doubt she can be sweet 
enough when it pleases her ; and you, sir, 
have little chance of seeing her as I see her. 

CoL. S. — I am sorry to hear this from 
you, young woman ; I could not have sus- 
pected it. If her words are unkind to those 
beneath her, what pain it must give to 
my virtuous and philanthropic nephew ! for 
his every thought, word and act are for the 
good of his fellow-creatures. 

Maria. — To speak the truth, sir, I think 
Mr. Seymour is the worst of the two, for 
he talks like an angel about his feelings, 
and never does one good deed ; but I can 
see through them both, sir ; I can see how 
they dupe you, and I made up mind to 



PARLOR GAMES. 



101 



speak and tell you ; for it is a sin to let 
such a kind-hearted gentleman be cheated. 
There's your glove^ sir. 

Col. S. — You have shocked me very 
much, girl ; I nmst think over this ; and I 
will certainly find out the fact. {Gives her 
7noney.) Exit. 

Maria. — There, now ! I have gone and 
done it ! See if I don't lose my place for 
my prattling ; but after all, I feel as if I had 
done right, though I haven't finished 
mending the veil. I must go and see what 
the cook can send up for my lady's lunch. 
{Exit) 

ACT II.— I. 
The same dressing-room. Maria at work. 

Enter Mrs. Seymour. — Oh, bless me ! 
who has taken the liberty to open my win- 
dows? 

Maria.— It was I that did it, madam. I 
was near fainting with the heat, and I 
thought 

Mrs. S. — I have no wish to hear your 
thoughts. You know I never suffer the 
air to be admitted here ; I am nobody — no 
one cares for me ! Who was that trotting 
the horses beneath my windows ? 

Maria. — Colonel Seymour, setting out 
for a ride. 

Mrs. S. — Colonel Seymour ! I hate to 
hear his name. How selfish of Edward to 
bring that old vulgar. East Indian uncle 
of his to my house ! Now tell Mr. Brown 
to give out some of the rich old Madeira, 
the same as we had yesterday. I choose 
to have some for my lunch. {Exit Maria 
with a curtesey). The mulled Madeira may 
perhaps restore the circulation which has 
been quite checked by the chill occasioned 
by that selfish young woman opening the 
windows. Servants think only of them- 
selves, 



Enter Maria. — Please, ma'am, about the 
wine — Mr. Brown 

Mrs. S. — What does the girl mean? 
What has Brown to do with my lunch ? 

Maria. — Here he comes, madam. 

Enter Brown in a cotton jacket. 

Mrs. S. — What is the meaning of this? 
Am I to be insulted by all my servants ? 

Brown. — Please, ma'am. Miss Maria was 
so premtery ^ insisting on having the wine 
directly ; and I was quite out of my head, 
and neverthoughtof my jacket. Mr. Sey- 
mour ordered me, strict^ to keep the Ma- 
deira — only one dozen of it left — to keep it 
all for the Colonel, who is remarkable fond 
of that Madeira. 

Mrs. S. — The contents of the wine cel- 
lars are mine ; you are my servant ; and 1 
order you to keep the wine for me. I shall 
have some of the wine every day as long 
as it lasts ; because I like the wine, and I 
choose to be obeyed. Go immediately, and 
give out the wine. Exit Brown. 

ACT III.— CAN'T. 

The dressing-room. Mrs. Seymour seated at a 

table. 

Mrs. S. — Edward is abominably selfish. 
I'm glad I insisted on having the Madeira. 

Enter Mr. Seymour. — My sweet Emily! 
what is this that Brown t-ells me, that my 
Emily wishes the bin of Madeira to be re- 
served for her? My angel must surely 
have perceived the pure and holy motive 
which induced me to set. it apart for our 
rich, worthy, and respected uncle. 

Mrs. S. — You know perfectly well, Ed- 
ward, that I have no respect for the vulgar 
old fellow ; and I see no reason why he 
should have the wine. I can't do without 
it in my state of health. 

Mr. S. — I bow to my martyrdom. 

Mrs. S. — But I have no desire for the 
glory of martyrdom, and I do not see yet 



102 



PARLOR GAMES. 



why I should give up any of my few com- 
forts to please this exacting old uncle of 
yours. 

]\Ik. S. — My Emily knows I wish not 
this Madeira for myself. 

Mrs. S. — Certainly not ; because you 
always drink port. 

Mr. S. — It is indeed my painful duty to 
do so ; the pure water from the sprint^ — 
would supply all my wants ; but Dr. Wise- 
man, as you know, my dear, says impera- 
tively, " Drink port," so I can't do without 
it ; but I am resigned, my love. 

Mrs. S. — I pray, Edward, cease your 
preaching. You can have bread and water 
if you desire it ; but /can't live on it my- 
self, so shall go down to lunch. {Exit) 

Mr. S. (Jiolding up his hands). — Unfor- 
tunate woman ! {Exit). 



ACT IV.— MENDICANT. 

The dressing -room. Maria arranging the wig of 
Col. Seymoury disguised as an old Beggar. 

Maria — That will do excellently ; now 
step into this closet till I can introduce 
you, and you will probably hear your own 
character. [Col. Seymour enUrs the closet : 
Maria sits down to her zvork~\. 

Enter Mr. a7id Mrs. Seymour. 

Mrs. S. — How painful to me is this 
miserable life ! I cannot comprehend, Ed- 
ward, how you can be so barbarous as to 
compel me to tolerate the provoking eccen- 
tricities of that ill-bred, unfeeling, vulgar 
old man. When will he go away ? 

Mr. S. — I venture to hope, my love, that 
he may never leave us. I hope he will live 
and die here. In short, my love, I caution 
you not to be alarmed if he should be 
suddenly canied off by apoplexy. 

Mrs. S. — I should not be the least 



alarmed to hear that he was dead, but I 
cannot allow him to die in my house ; it 
would be most unpleasant. 

Mr. S. — Emily, how can you be blind to 
the fact that were he to leave us, he might 
be induced to alter his will. He has left 
all to us — a beautiful arrangement of Pro- 
vidence ! Already I feel in possession of 
his coffers, which might then be truly in- 
scribed, " Treasury of the Poor." 

Mrs. S. — Mr. Seymour, you are mis- 
taken. {Sharply.) What does that ragged 
old mendicant want here ? 

Enter Maria, introducing Old Man. 

Maria {putthig on Mrs. Seymoui'^s shawl). 
— Please, ma'am. Brown begged me to 
bring up this old man, who had said he 
must see you immediately on a case of life 
or death . 

Mr. S. — What can he want? Perhaps 
some accident has happened to the Colonel,, 
my dear. Speak, old man. 

Old Man. — I am the poorest of the poor; 
for I have been rich, and I feel more keenly 
the cold and deadly pressure of poverty and 
famine. 

Mr. S.-^-Do you belong to our parish? I 
know nothing of you. 

Old Man. — I am a stranger ; and alas ! 
sir, my wife and child are prostrated by an 
attack of fever. I cannot even pay for a 
shelter for their dying bed. Encouraged 
by your noble sentiments, I come to ask of 
you some assistance. 

Mrs. vS. — Send him away, Edward ; he 
may have brought infection ; I may take a 
fever. 

Mr. S. — Go away, good man ; I subscribe 
largely to all benevolent societies, those 
blessed fountains for the support of the re- 
spectable poor; what more can charity 
require from me? Depart in peace, old 
man, you can be received into a spacious 



PARLOR GAMES. 



103 



and commodious union-house ; go, without 
delay. 

Mrs. S.— Why do you waste your words 
on such a wretch ? Send him to prison if 
he will not leave. 

Mr. S. — Strict principle forbids me to 
bestow money on unknown mendicants. I 
give you my prayers. Go ! or I shall be re- 
luctantly compelled to commit you as a 
vagrant. 

Old Man.— Will you not bestow a shilling 
on me? 

Mrs. S. — Carry him off, girl, before the 
Colonel comes up. I would not have such 
a miserable object seen in my apartment. 



Mr. S. — Be careful to take him through 
the back yard ; not a moment longer, stub- 
born and importunate offender ; be grateful 
for my leniency, and go quickly. 

Old Man. — Farewell, admirably-mated 
pair ! And in taking the liberty of remov- 
ing my night- cap in your ladyship's luxu- 
rious abode {throwing off his disguise) I will 
drop into it the P. P. C. card of Colonel 
Seymour. I have other nephews and 
nieces, whom I shall now seek, and whom 
I trust have neither your selfishness or 
falsehood. 



/Scene doses. 



KING-FISHER. 



PANTOMINE CHARADE IN POUR ACTS. 



DRAMATIS PERSON^. 
The King. Courtiers. 

First Minister. Guards. 

Gold Stick in Waiting. Fisherman. 
Bird, &c. 



ACT I.— KING. 

Scene: Representing Grand Sail of Audience. 

The King is discovered, sitting in state, 
in a large arm chair ; he leans back with an 
affectation of mock dignity, and puffs out 
his cheeks ; one of his feet is placed on a 
stool, and in his right hand he holds a 
poker, as a sceptre ; in his left, an orange. 
On his head a decanter-stand supplies the 
place of a crown, and over his shoulders he 
wears a shawl or cloak, as a robe of state. 
The courtiers keep bowing before him, 
while the first minister, kneeling, presents 
him with a roll of paper. Witty questions 
may here b§ put., a7td answers given. A flour- 
ish of trumpets is heard (produced in any 
way you can) : exit king, strutting conse- 
quentially, followed by his courtiers. 

[Music— "Old King Cole," 



ACT II.— FISHER. (A Fisherman.) 

Scene : The Sea-side. 

Enter a Fisherman with a broom handle 
over his right shoulder, on which is sus- 
pended a net, made of a net shawl, or a 
veil ; in his left hand he carries two fishes, 
made of two snuffer-trays, suspended by a 
string. He seats himself on a stool. {A 
comic scene may here be introduced by one of 
the actors putting comic questions to him). 
Fisherman rises, and exit slowly. 

[Music, — '' I'm a jolly Fisherman.'* 



ACT III.— KINGFISHER. 

Scene : Representing the banks of a river. 
The Kingfisher is seen on a rock, with 
his bill, made of a short stick, poking for- 
ward. He dives on the carpet, in imita- 
tion of the bird catching its finny prey, 
which he seems to devour with a most 
comfortable appetite; he then flaps his 
arms, instead of wings and exit as much as 
possible like a bird. 

[Music, — Any lively air, 



PHAN-TOM. 



DIALOGUE CHARADE IN FOUR SCENES. 



Characters. 
Mr. Debit, a mercha?it. 
Tom Highdon, his clerk. 
Julius, a colored servant, 
Mrs. Reeves. 
Ellen Reeves, her daughter. 



PHAN— 
SCENE \.—An office in Wall street, 
and a table R. C, 



A desk L, 



Tom 



Debit is looking over some letters at table 
Highdon is writing at desk. 

Debit. Oh, Highdon ! 

Tom {looking round). Sir. 

Debit. Did you send off those charges 
to Phickem & Co.'s ? 

Tom. Sent them by yesterday^s post. 

Debit. That's right. 

\^A paiise Tom resumes his writing. 

Debit. Oh, Highdon ! 

Tom. {looking round). Sir. 

Debit. Has the * ' Charmer '' been heard 
of yet ? 

Tom. I called at the Underwriters' 
this morning, and nothing has been heard 
of her. 

Debit. Confound it ! — and I am not 
fully insured ! Has Bradbury been here 
this morning about that sugar? 

Tom. Yes, sir. He'll meet you on 
'Change at twelve o'clock. 

Debit. That's right. {A pause. Tom 
resuynes his writing ; Debit ^^/.y up^ changes 
his coat^ and puts on his hat.) Copy this 
out in time for to-day's post, will you? 
[ Gives him paper. 

Tom. Yes, sir. 

Debit. I'm going on 'Change now. 
Tom. Very well, sir. {Exit Debit.) I 
104 



thought he never would go out. {Throws 
down pen^ rises., and comes forward}) And 
the advertisement says between eleven and 
twelve. Where's the Herald? {Goes to 
Debit's table., and gets nezuspaper) Let 
me see : " Dear Brown, call and see me. 
Julia." That ain't it. I wonder if Brown 
will go and see his Julia? "Wanted, two 
thousand five hundred dollars " — ah, who 
don't want two thousand five hundred dol- 
lars? — that ain't it. Here it is : "Found, 
in a Broadway car, a lady's fan. The 
owner can have it by applying at No. 796 
Wall street, between the hours of eleven 
and twelve." If I am not mistaken, the 
young lady who left the fan in the stage 
was handsome. I hope she'll come for it 
herself. {A knock is heard at the door.) 
Come in. 

Enter Mrs. Rbeves ayid Ellen. 

Mrs. Reeves. Is this 796 Wall street ? 

Tom. Yes, madam. 

Mrs. Reeves. My daughter had the 
misfortune to lose a fan the other day, in a 
Broadway car. 

Tom. Oh, then, you have called about 
that fan ? 

Mrs. Reeves. Yes. Seeing an adver- 
tisement in the Herald^ to the effect that a 
fan had been found, and might be had by 
applying here, we have called to see if it 
is the fan that my daughter lost. 

Tom. What kind of a fan was it? 

Mrs. Reeves. You had better describe 
it, Ellen. 

Ellen. Very well, mamma. It was an 
ivory fan, carved, with a landscape painted 
upon it, and trimmed with marabout 
feathers. 



PARIvOR GAMES, 



105 



Tom {goes to desk and gets fan). Is that 
it? 

Ellen. Oh, yes! How glad I am to 
get it back again ! It was given me as a 
present, and I wouldn't lose it for the 
world. 

Tom. I am happy to have been the 
means of returning it to you. 

Mrs. Reeves. Pardon me, sir, but what 
have we to pay you ? 

Tom. I paid fifty cents for the adver- 
tisement. 

Mrs. Reeves, Will you not allow us to 
pay your carriage hire as well ? 

Tom. Thank you, no. I left the adver- 
tisement on my way up tov/n. 

Mrs. Reeves. You are very kind. Dear 
me, I have not my purse with me ! Ellen, 
have you any money -with you ? 

Ellen. No, mamma. 

Mrs. Reeves. How careless of me ! 
Really, sir, I am extremely sorry, but 

Tom. It is no matter, I assure you. 

Mrs. Reeves. Would it be troubling 
you too much to get you to call at our 
house ? 

Tom. Not at all. {Aside.) A capital 
chance to 'make love to the daughter. 

Mrs. Reeves. There is our address, sir. 

\_Gives card. 

Tom. Thank you. 

Ellen. I am sure, sir, we are sorry to 
put you to so much trouble. 

Tom. It's a pleasure, I assure you. 

Mrs. Reeves. Any time you are pass- 
ing, we shall be happy to see you. Come, 
Ellen. Good morning, sir. 

Tom. Good morning. 

Ellen. Good morning. 

[Tom bows.^ the ladies courtesy.^ and exit. 

Tom. What a beautiful creature ! And 
how fascinating the mother is ! Tom 
Highdon, you're a lucky dog ! {Strikes 



Jiwiself upon the chest.) Hullo ! here comes 
old Debit. 

[Runs to desk, sits down, and begins to write. 

Enter Debit. 

Debit. Highdon. 

Tom. Sir. 

Debit. What did those ladies want that 
I met on the stairs just now ? 

Tom. They — they — wanted to know the 
price of cotton. 

Debit. Strange creatures these women, 
— did you tell them ? 

Tom. Yes, sir. 

Debit. That's right. Here, copy this 
out, and take it round to Jones's when it's 
finished. 

\_Gives 'poiper to Tom, then goes to table, and sits, 
down.l 

[^Scene closes. 

SCENE II. — A parlor in Mrs. Reeves's house. 

—TOM. 

Enter Julius, 

Julius. Now, it 'pears to me dar is suf- 
fin' wrong 'bout dis house. Miss Ellen is 
in lub, dat's what it is. She don't eat 
nuffin' , and am as malancolly as a rooster 
on a wet day. Now, when I was in lub, I 
felt mi'ty bad, too. My gal didn't behave 
prop'ly to me at all. Dem gals do make 
fools of us poor cullud folks. Golly ! don't 
dis child 'member de song she used to 
like to hear. I 'member, — it went dis 
way. [Sings. 

Air : " A little more, Cider, too." 

I'll tell you all about my lub, my heart goes pity- 
patter ; 

She was as sweet as sugar-cane, her heart was soft as 
batter ; 

Her eyes were brack as eberything — her voice as 
clear as nuffin' 

Her har was like a blue-jay's nest — her nose was like 
a muffin ! 



106 



PARLOR GAMES. 



CHORUS. 

I lubbed Miss Dinah so, 
I lubbed Miss Dinah so, 
She was as g:ay as Christmas day — and — 
Yah ha ! I lubbed her so ! 

{_Kuses Jm hand with a loud noise. 

One day we went out walkin' by de margin ob de 

ribber, 
De wind was blowin' kinder fresh, and made Miss 

Dinah shibber ; 
She shibber so, I thought she'd fall, an' in my arms 

I caught her, 
When de wind cum up an' blowed so hard, it bio wed 

us in de water ! 

CHORUS. 

I lubbed Miss Dinah so, 
I lubbed Miss Dinah so. 
She was as gay as Christmas day — and — 

Yah ha ! I lubbed her so ! [/Ctsses hand 

Miss Dinah she went in hed first, an' I went in hed 

foremost ; 
An' tho' I froze my nose an' toes, my heart was still 

de warmest ; 
We sank rite down into de waves — de people thought 

us drownded— 
Miss Dinah she was raked ashore, but I was nebber 

founded ! 

CHORUS. 

I lubbed Miss Dinah so, 
I lubbed Miss Dinah so — 
She was as gay as Chris 'mas day — and — 
Yah ha ! I lubbed her so ! 

[^Kisses hand. 

Hello ! dar's old missus a-comin' ! 
E?iter Mrs. Reeves. 

Mrs. Reeves. Did you leave that note 
I gave you ? 

Julius. Yes, missus.- 

Mrs. Reeves. Did they give you any 
message for me ? 

Julius. 'Pears not, missus ; nebber said 
nuffin' to me. 

Mrs. Reeves.. You may go. (Julius 
hesitates.) Why do you stand there? You 
can go. 

Julius. Beg pardon, missus, but may 
dis boy go out to-morrow ? 



Mrs. Reeves. What do you want to go 
out for ? You had a holiday last week. 

Julius. Well, missus, Clementina, — dat 
gal's my cousin, — goin' to be married to- 
morrow. 

Mrs. Reeves. And you want to go to 
the wedding ? 

Julius. Please, missus ; de party couldn't 
get on nohow widout Julius. I'se one of 
de bridesmaids. 

Mrs. Reeves. One of the groomsmen, I 
suppose you mean. 

Julius. Yas, dat's what it is. I gibs de 
bride away. 

Mrs. Reeves. If you give the bride 
away, I suppose you can go, Julius. 

Julius. Tank you, missus. Golly! won't 
dis boy Julius hab some fun ! 

[Outs a pigeon's wing, and exits. 

Mrs. Reeves. I can hardly understand 
the feeling Ellen entertains toward Mr. 
Highdon. I must speak to her about it, 
and see that the connection with that gen- 
tleman is severed. 

Enter Ellen. 
Ellen. Oh ! mamma, Tom is coming 



here to 

Mrs. Reeves {interrupting her), Tom! 
who are you speaking of, — a cat ? 

Ellen. Oh, no, mamma; Tom is Mr. 
Highdon. 

Mrs. Reeves. Do you know it is very 
improper, my dear, to call gentlemen by 
their Christian names ? 

Ellen. But Tom don't mind it, mamma. 

Mrs. Reeves. I do. Mr. Highdon was 
kind enough to return your fan when you 
lost it ; we would have paid him for his 
trouble, if he had allowed us ; because" he 
would not, I see no reason why we should 
be on such familiar terms with him. 

Ellen. But, mamma, Tom likes me to 
call him Tom. 

Mrs. Reeves. I do not. We must let 



PARLOR GAMES. 



107 



Mr. Highdon understand that we no longer 
desire him to visit us. 

Ellex. But, mamma, you won't be so 
unkind ! • 

Mrs. Reeves. Unkind! My deai, Mr. 
Highdon is only a clerk in a merchant's 
office down town, so it would be wrong of 
us to let him entertain hopes, that would 
ultimately have to be destroyed. 

Enter Julius. 

Julius. Please, missus, dat young 
woman dat was here dis mornin', called 
agin. 

Mrs. Reeves. Very well, Julius; Til 
come and see her. 

{Exeunt Mrs. Reeves ^;^«^ Julius. 

Ellen. I wonder what Tom will say, 
when I tell him that mamma don't like 
him to come here. I am sure it is very 
unkind of mamma, just because his name 
is Tom, not to let him come here any 
more. 

Enter Tom. 

Tom. My dear Ellen! how do you do 
to-day ? 

Ellen. How do you do, Mr. Highdon ? 

Tom. Mr. Highdon! Why don't you 
call me Tom ? 

Ellen. Mamma says I am not to. 

Tom. Why not ? 

Ellen. I don't know ; she says you 
mustn't come here any more. 

Tom. Not come here! If I don't see 
you I shall go mad. 

Ellen. Don't go mad ; I don't like mad 
people. 

Tom. Well, then, dearest, for your sake 
I won't. 

Ellen. Thank you, Tom. 

Tom. There's a darling ; alwa5^s call me 
Tom. I will see your mamma ; tell her 
how much I love you, and ask her to let 
you be my wife. 



Eyiter Mrs. Reeves. 

Mrs. Reeves. You here, Mr. Highdon ? 

Tom. Yes, madam. I have come to ask 
the hand of your daughter in marriage. 

Mrs. Reeves {aside). Oh, oh ! It's 
time I thought of putting a stop to it. 
{Aloud}) Indeed, sir, and do you love my 
daughter ? 

Tom. Most devotedly ! 

Mrs. Reeves. And Ellen loves you ? 

Ellen. Yes, mamma. 

Mrs. Reeves {aside). This has gone 
farther than I thought. {Aloud.) Mr. 
Highdon, will you come with me to the 
library ; there I will speak to you upon 
the subject. 

Tom. Certainly, madam. 
\_Exii Mrs. Reeves; Tom lexises Ellen's hand, 

and hurries after her. 

Ellen. Mamma looks so cross, I am 
sure Tom will be disappointed, and I know 
I shall be. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! why are 
mammas so cruel ? 
\_She sits upon chair, and covers her face with 

handkerchief. 

[Scene closes. 



PHANTOM. 
SCENE HI.— The same as Scene II. 
Enter Julius. 
Julius. Nohow he can fix it — I won't 
let him in. He am been here two or three 
times, but missus says, Julius, says she, if 
massa Highdon comes here, don't let him 
see Miss Ellen. An' dis nigger won't. 
{A clock strikes twelve^ Dar's twelve 
o'clock, missus can't be long, anyway. 
Enter Tom, with a sheet wrapped round him. 
Julius. Oh I Lor' a massy 

\_Orouches behind a chair in terror. 
Tom {in a sepulchral voice) . J ul ius, Jul ius, 
Julius, I want you. 

Julius. Go 'long ; don't know you ; dis 
man neber seed you afore. 



108 



PARLOR GAMES. 



Tom. Come here, Julius. 

Julius. Julius am gone out. 

Tom. Ha, ha, ha ! Tellest thou an 
untruth ? 
[Goes to Julius, take.^ him by the collar, and 

drags him to front of stage. 

Julius (falling on //is knees). Go 'way, 
white man, dis cullud pussun don't know 
you. 

Tom. Where is 

Julius (interrupting him). Where's dat 
sherry ? 

Tom {suppressing a laugh). Yes, where 
is that sherry ? 

Julius. I only took two bottles ; one I 
gub to a yaller gal, the udder dis boy had 
for roomatiz. 

Tom. Sayest thou so? Begone, and 
wait for me in the basement. 

Julius. Lor' a massy, massa, dat I will. 
[.&// Julius in extreme trepidation. 

Tom. Ha, ha, ha ! (Re stirniug his natural 
voice.) Love laughs at locksmiths, they 
say. Love laughs at negroes, say I. He 
was terribly frightened, but it was the only 
way I could get him to leave here. But 
how am I to see Ellen ? I am almost as far 
from that as ever. 

Enter Ellen. 

Ellen (screams). What's that ? 

Tom (throwitig away sheet). My dearest 
Ellen, it is only L 

Ellen. Oh, Tom, how you frightened 
mc, I took you for a ghost. 

Tom. No dear, no phantom, but your 
own Tommy in the flesh. 

Ellen. What will mamma say, if she 
knows it? 

Tom. But she won't know it. I have 
frightened Julius, thanks to that sheet, so 
there is no fear of his returning. 

Ellen. How indiscreet of you, Tom. 

Tom. Can you expect mc to be discreet, 
and not see you ? It is impossible ! 



Ellen. Did you .see my letter in to-day's 
Herald? 

Tom. Yes, dear. 

Ellen. Isn't it delightful that we can 
correspond in that way, without anybody 
being a bit the wiser. 

Tom. It's charming. (Aside) But very 
expensive. (Aloud.) I have good news for 
you, darling ; old Debit is going to take me 
into partnership. 

Ellen. That's splendid ! 

Tom. Isn't it? Ever since your mother 
forbade me the house I have been indefatig- 
able in my attention to business ; so much 
so, that old Debit has offered me a share in 
the business. When that's settled we may 
enter into a different kind of partnership. 
Eh, Ellen? 

Ellen. Oh, Tom. 

Enter Mrs. Reeves. 

Mrs. Reeves. This is pretty conduct, 
sir, entering my house in this manner. 
What have you to say in palliation? 

Tom. Simply, that I love your daugh- 
ter. 

Mrs. Reeves. Nonsense ! I should 
have thought Mr. Highdon had more pride 
than to intrude himself where his presence 
is obnoxious. 

Tom. I have reason to think, only to 
one person, madam. 

Mrs. Reeves. If I were to give you my 
consent, how could you support a wife ? 
My daughter has been used to luxuries 
which I am sure you with your income 
could never afford. 

Ellen. But, mamma, Mr. Debit has 
taken Tom into partnership. 

Mrs. Reeves. Is that so? 

Tom. Yes, madam, I am happy to say 
it is. 

Mrs. Reeves. Humph ! (Aside.) Mr. 
Debit is one of the richest ineu in Wall 



PARLOR GAMES. 



109 



street. {Aloud) Mr. Higlidon, Ellen, 
come here. {Takes Ellen's ajtd Highdon's 
J lands and joins them together) Take her, 
Mr. Highdon, but mind, if you are deceiv- 
ing me about the partnership, I shall with- 
draw my consent. 

Tom. Then my happiness is secured. 

Mrs. Reeves {ringing bell). Now I will 
have a talk with Julius. You will excuse 
me, Mr. Highdon, but I am about to scold 
Julius for admitting you. 

Tom. It was — 

Enter Julius. 

Julius. Yas, missus. {Seeing Tom.) 
Lor' a massy, dare's massa Highdon ! 

Mrs. Reeves. Yes, and how came you 
to admit Mr. Highdon ? 

Julius. Dis boy neber, 'mitted massa 
Highdon. 

Mrs. Reeves. How did he get into this 
room, then ? 



Tom. I will explain that. Knowing 
that you had forbidden me the house, I had 
recourse to a lover's stratagem ; I put on 
that sheet, and frightened Julius into the 
belief that I was a phantom. 

Julius. An' was you de spook ? 

Tom {pointing to sheet). Yes, and there 
is my ghostly garment. 

Julius {aside to Tom). Don't say nuffin' 
bout de sherry. 

Mrs. Reeves. I see how it is, so I 
suppose I must forgive all of you. 

Ellen. If you please, mamma, and {to 
audience) ladie$ and gentlemen, will you be 
kind enough to give a helping hand to the 
new partnership ? 

Ellen and Tom centre. Mrs. Reeves 
left and Julius right. 



curtain. 




Parlor Magic. 




PEGASUS IN FLIGHT. 

ERE is one of the few 
balancing toys which may 
be readily made, and which 
will aftbrd mnch amuse- 
ment to all, and wonder to 
those who have not taken 
the pains to understand the 
principle on which it is constructed. It 
furnishes a solution of a popular mechani- 
cal problem or 
paradox, viz., 
'Miow to pre- 
vent a body, 
laving a ten- 
dency to fall 
by its own 
weight, from 
fal 1 i ng, by 
adding to its 
weight on the 
sarne side on 
which its ten- 
dency is to 
fall." 

The Pegasus 
in Flight 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT. ^ |^ ^ ^ ^^^. 

plete is fairly represented in the accom- 
panying illustration. It should be made 
out of a small toy figure of a horse in 
which the centre of gravity is found in, 
or very near to, the middle of the body. 
The wings, which are merely added for 
the sake of adornment, and to make the 
toy resemble in appearance the fabled 
charger after which it is named, should 
be attached to the figure at a point just 
behind the shoulders ; the wings should 
110 




be of equal weight and so adjusted as to 
keep the balance of the figure true. They 
may, however, if desired, be entirely dis- 
pensed with, or any other addition, accord- 
ing to fancy, may be put upon the horse's 
back. 

A wire bent to a curve, to the end of 
which a small leaden ball has first to be 
attached, is to be fastened to the middle of 
the under part of the horse. Upon the 
hind feet of the horse being then set at rest 
on the edge of a table, and in such a posi- 
tion that the leaden ball is beneath the 
edge of the table, the animal may be made 
to rock to and fro without any fear of its 
being upset, and the longer the wire, pro- 
vided only the proper curve is given to it, 
the longer will be the distance that the toy 
will sway upwards and downwards. 

This toy is also sometimes known by the 
name of the Mechanical Bucephalus, but it 
should then be made minus the wings, as 
is also the case when it is simply exhibited 
under the still more common description of 
the Prancing Horse. 

PITH DANCER. 

The Pith Dancer is a -very pleasing 
dancing toy, and possesses the great merit 
of being easily made. It is a little figure 
made of cork, pith, or some other equally 
lio^ht material. At one end of the sub- 
stance cut out a head and bust, and at the 
other end stick in four hog's bristles of 
equal length, so that the figure will stand 
erect thereon. To make the figure effec- 
tive in appearance, paint the face, put a 
little cap on the head, add a pair of arms, 
and dress it in a cloak which may be made 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



Ill 



of some light stuff like tissue paper. When 
the figure is completely made and equipped, 
stand it on the bristles upon the sounding 
board of a piano, and play some brisk and 
lively tune. The vibration of the piano 
will then make the figure dance with much 
spirit, vivacity, and originality. 

HYDRAULIC DANCER. 

Make a little figure out of a piece of cork, 
pith, or some equally light material ; place 
in the figure a small hollow cone of thin 
leaf brass ; then set the figure on any water- 
jet or small fountain, and it will remain 
suspended on the top of the water, and will 
jump, dance, and move about in a very 
amusing manner. A hollow ball of thin 
copper, placed on a jet or fountain in a 
similar way, will remain suspended, turn- 
ing round and spreading the water grace- 
fully about it. 

IMMOVABLE CARD. 

Upon the face of it, and on first thoughts 
it would appear to be the easiest possible 
thing to blow over an ordinary visiting 
card placed on a table, provided it be not 
secured in any mechanical manner. If a 
visiting card is neatly turned down at the 
narrow edges, about a quarter or a third of 
an inch, so that the edges turned down are 
at right-angles with the remainder of the 
card, and the card be then placed on the 
turned down edges, the feat would seem to 
be still more easy than if the card were 
simply placed flat on the table. The con- 
trary, however, is the case, and unless let 
into the secret one may blow at a card so 
placed for hours without being able to 
overturn it. 

To accomplish the feat, the blowing 
must be done on the table, not on the card, 
and at some distance from the card. 



MAGIC PAN. 
The description of several paper toys 
appears in this section of the book, but of 
them all the Magic Fan is the most in- 
genious, its varieties being so numerous. 
It is known by the names of the * ' Magic 
Fan," ^'Japanese Fan,'» '' Puzzle- Wit," 

8 ^B 





F . 






% 






A 
Wg.S. 


^ 




M 






Fig. 4. 


1 




Fig.L 




B 




: 1 






a 












Fig. 5. 





Fig. 2. 




Tiff, 9. 



MAGIC FAN. 



and " Trouble- Wit," and is often exhibited 
for profit in the public streets of populous 
places by members of that class of people 
who prefer living by their wits to working 
hard. As a toy, however, to be made at 
home, it is well worth something more 
than a mere superficial acquaintanceship. 

In its manufacture a piece of good stout 
paper will be required in size twenty-four 
inches by nineteen, or proportionately 
larger or smaller. The paper is to be 
measured into six equal parts, the divis- 
ions being marked on the margin, as 
shown in Fig i. Double the paper in 
half, as shown in Fig. 2. Fold the upper- 
most half outwards, making the fold as 
shown in same figure by the letters A A. 



112 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



Turn the paper over and fold the other 
half in precisely the same way, thus mak- 
ing the paper as shown in Fig. 3. 

Upon examining the edge AAA, two 
openings between the folds will be seen, 
whereas at the edge B B B, three openings 
will be found. The hand has next to be 
inserted into the middle of these latter 
openings, and the paper folded outwards 
to the right and left, and turned over, 
when it will show as in Fig. 4. Then 



rig. w. 




Fig. 17. 



Fig. 10. 



MAGIC FAN. 



pinch the paper from end to end in plaits 
like a rufif, three-eights of an inch in depth, 
so that when it is all pinched it will be in 
small compass, as in the Fig. 5. 

The Magic Fan is then complete, and 
all that remains is to learn how to produce 
its variety of shape. It is said that as 
many as from sixty to seventy varieties 
have been produced ; a few only will, how- 
ever, be here indicated, as by attention to 
the directions now given it will be a com- 
paratively easy matter to ring the changes 
on the kinds specified. It must always be 



remembered that every time the form of 
the fan is changed, the paper must be 
again well pinched together, in order that 
the folds of the plaits may remain plainly 
and strongly marked. Unless the folds 
are kept in order the Fan cannot be prop- 
erly worked. 

To produce the first form, the common- 
shaped fan. Fig. 6, catch the folded paper. 
Fig. 5, at the bottom with both hands, 
pinch it in and then spread out the top. 
For Fig. 7, insert the fingers at A and 
pass them around to b, raising the paper. 
To turn Fig. 7 into Fig. 8, insert the fin- 
gers at c and pass them round to D. 

For the next change catch the paper by 
the part now uppermost, pinch that part 
well together, and the paper takes the form 
of a scoop (Fig. 9), the upper part of the 
fan. Fig. 8, becoming the handle of the 
scoop. Pinch the paper again into the 
form of Fig. 5, lift up the upper part A, 
bring the lower plaits, b, well together, 
and with one hand arrange the upper part, 
so as to form the head of a mushroom (Fig. 

10). 

A new form may be got by raising part 
of the double head of the mushroom. For 
Fig. 1 1 , reverse the paper and spread out 
the lower part, so that it may represent 
the body of a wine-glass, that which in 
Fig. 10 was the head of the mushroom will 
soon appear as the foot of the glass. To 
make the Chinese lantern. Fig. 12, open 
out all the paper and twist it round ; catch 
it now by the central part, and by com- 
pressing the central folds well together, 
something like two of the enormous wheels 
of a steam stone-crusher will be produced 
(Fig. 13). The butter cooler, Fig. 14, is 
obtained by opening the paper out again 
and catching it at the two ends. 

The original form. Fig. 5, must then be 
again reverted to, and a fresh start may be 



PARI.OR MAGIC. 



113 



made by catching the paper at both ends 
and folding it so as to represent Fig. 15. 
By drawing it out the table mat, Fig 16, 
will next be shown. Raising up the paper 
at the letters A and b of Fig. 16, and, there 
will appear a dish in the form of Fig. 17. 
Fig. 18 is obtained by then pressing the 
paper inwards. The sentry box. Fig. 19, 
comes by drawing the paper out, and let- 
ting it loose at the foot. 

And so on, many shapes not here set 
forth may be obtained. Experiment freely 
on the Magic Fan ; if spoiled it costs noth- 
ing but a little patience and a few minutes 
of time to remake, and a dexterous lad will 
produce staircases, sofas, chairs, flower- 
pots, windows and window-blinds, night- 
caps, boxes, &c., &c., &c. 

MAGIO FIGURE. 

This is an amusing and easily made toy. 
Its peculiarity lies in this, that however it 
may be knocked about, so long as it re- 
mains whole, it rises of its own accord to 
its feet and retains its balance with a 
gently swaying motion. The figure should 
be cut out of cork or pith, or something 
equally light, and may be clothed by gum- 
ming on to it some silk floss or other sim- 
ilar substance ; to its base, but hidden as 
much as possible, should be fastened the 
half of a leaden bullet, with the semi-cir- 
cular side undermost. The weight of the 
pedestal will then be sufficient to secure 
the recovery of the figure immediately 
after being made to lie prostrate. 

MAGIO FLUTE. 

The magic flute is made out of a good 
sound and unused cork, which has in it 
neither holes or cracks. Place the cork 
against the teeth, holding it tightly be- 
tween the lips, and play upon it with the 
landles of two prongs or forks or the bowls 
8 



of two spoons. An imitation of the pic- 
colo or small flute will thus be produced, 
and almost any simple quick air may be 
played upon it. 

JACK-IN-THE-BOX. 

The toy known as Jack-in-the-Box is 
familiar to all, and is always the source of 
much fun ; it may be readily made by any 
ingenious lad who will carefully follow the 
accompanying description : 

The toy consists of a box containing a 
figure of some comical shape. Inside the 
figure a piece of wire, known as the spring, 
is coiled up, corkscrew- wise, like the spring 
within a carriage candle lamp. The box 
should be made so that when the lid is 
closed the wire or spring within the figure 
is compressed ; on the removal of the 
pressure from the lid the wire regains its 
original form, and out springs the figure. 
The figure is sometimes secured to the 
bottom of the box, and sometimes attached 
to the side by a long piece of string, and 
then when the lid is suddenly unfastened, 
Jack will spring out of his hiding-place 
and fly up high into the air. 

BIRD WHISTLES. 

Whistles to imitate the songs of birds 
may be readily made in difierent ways. 
Remove the spout from a small toy tea- 
pot, make a whistle at the lower end of a 
quill, and fit that end to the hole of the 
teapot left upon the spout being removed, 
then fill the teapot rather more than half 
full of water, blow the whistle, and clear 
bird-like notes will be sounded. 

Another form of bird whistle may be 
made out of a piece of elder or willow. 
Make in the middle of a piece of either of 
these woods a whistle, the wood being, of 
course, first hollowed out. Place one end 
of the whistle so made in the mouth, and 



114 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



I 



the opposite end just under the surface of 
a glass of water. By then blowing, the 
bird-like notes, as with the quill and the 
teapot, will be obtained. These whistles 
may be made of metal or glass as well as 
wood. 

ANIMATED SERPENT. 

The animated serpent is a simple and 
pretty toy. To make it, obtain, if pos- 
sible, a piece of thin sheet copper or sheet 
brass, and if not, a piece of card of firm 
substance, but not too thick. Draw upon 




ANIMATED SERPENT. 

the material the form of a coiled-up ser- 
pent ; cut out the serpent with the point 
of a sharp pen-knife, and fasten a thread 
through the tip of the tail. When this is 
done, fasten to the mantelpiece, or to some 
board to be placed thereon, the other end 
of the thread, taking care that the stove 
register is open. 

The weight of the serpent's body and 
head will cause the coils and head to fall 
below the suspended tail, and then, as a 
current of air is always passing up an open 
chimney, the serpent will revolve with 
more or less rapidity, according to the 
strength of the draught of air. It is well 
that the serpent when made should be 
striped green, black, and yellow, and 



should have glass beads to represent e\e:^. 
Any situation in which there is a draught 
of air will be suitable, as well as the chim- 
ney-piece, in showing off the toy when 
made. 

CAMERA (MINIATURE). 

The materials required to make this toy 
are a small pill-box, a small piece of 
broken looking-glass about half an inch 
square, and a little piece of beeswax. 
Bore a small hole in the centre of the lid 
of the pill-box, and another hole in the 
side of the box ; then, by means of the 
beeswax, stick the bit of looking-glass 
across the bottom of the box, at an an- 
gle of forty-five degrees. 

By looking now through one of the 
holes in the box the reflection of objects 
passing behind will be seen. In making 
a miniature camera it is not necessary that 
the materials used should be so small as 
those here set forth, but even of such 
materials as those mentioned an effective 
little toy may be easily constructed, and 
more ambitious cameras are to be made on 
just the same principle. 

^OLIAN HARP. 

This interesting little toy is best if made 
on a long box of very thin deal wood, 
about four or six inches deep, a circle an 
inch and a half in diameter, in which 
some small holes are to be drilled, being 
marked on the upper side of the box. 
Bridges, like the bridge of an ordinary 
violin or fiddle, are to be fastened on to 
each end of the upper side, and over these 
bridges are to be passed a number of 
strings of very fine cat-gut. The strings 
at one end are to be secured in the frame- 
work of the box, and at the other on 
screw pins, which are themselves fastened 
to the box. 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



115 



the strings can be relaxed or tightened, i 
as desired, by turning these pins, and the 
notes emitted by the different strings 
altered and arranged according' to fancy. 
The instrument so made should be blown 
upon or placed in a current of air where 
the wind can pass freely over it, and then, 
according to the degrees of strength with 
which the strings are blown upon, differ- 
ent sounds will be produced. 

TO MAKE A LIQUID WHICH PEELS 
COLD TO THE TOUCH, BUT 
WHICH RENDERS THE HANDS 
AND FACE LUMINOUS. 

Immerse a piece of phosphorus, about 
the size of a pea, in an ounce or so of ether. 
After a time, portions of the phosphorus 
will dissolve, yielding an ethereal solution 
of that substance. If the hands and face 
be rubbed with this solution, which is per- 
fectly innocent, the operator will seem on 
fire, and will pass for a very respectable 
ghost. 

TO MAKE BEAUTIFUL TRANS 
PARENT COLORED WATER. 

The following liquors, which are colored, 
being mixed, produce colors very different 
from their own. The yellow tincture of 
saffron, and the red tincture of roses, when 
mixed, produce a green. Blue tincture of 
violets, and brown spirit of sulphur, pro- 
duce a crimson. Red tincture of roses, and 
brown spirits of hartshorn, make a blue. 
Blue tincture of violets, and blue solution 
of copper, give a violet color. Blue tinc- 
ture of cyanus, and blue spirit of sal am- 
moniac colored, make green. Blue solution 
of Hungarian vitriol, and brown lye of 
potash, make yellow. Blue solution of 
Hungarian vitriol, and red tincture of roses, 
make black ; and blue tincture of cyanus, 
and green solution of copper, produce red. 



DANCING HIGHLANDER. 

The Dancing Highlander, like the Ap- 
ple Woman and a few other imitations 
described among the toy games, is really 
a hand performance supplemented by a 
few accessories. For the performance of 
the Dancing Highlander, get an old glove 
and cut off the tops of the first two fingers 
down to about the second joint ; next will 
be required a very small pair of baby's 
socks, which are to be painted some plaid 
pattern, and fitted to the first and second 
fingers. Draw on the glove, then pull the 
socks on the first two fingers, padding out 
that for the first finger so as to be equal in 
length to that for the second. 

The figure of a Highlander in his na- 
tional costume, which should have been 
first prepared out of cardboard and appro- 
priately colored, is then to be pasted on to 
the back of the glove ; the tops of the two 
first fingers of the gloves should do duty 
for shoes, and the uncovered portions of 
the performer's fingers will show as the 
bare knees of the kilted Scot, who may 
then be made to dance or perform any of 
those wild antics usually attributed to the 
Highlander when his foot is on his native 
heath. 

THE VIAL OF THE FOUR 
ELEMENTS. 

Take a phial, six or seven inches long, 
and about three quarters of an inch in 
diameter. Into this phial put, first, glass 
coarsely powdered ; secondly, oil of tartar 
per deliquium ; thirdly, tincture of salt of 
tartar ; and lastly, distilled rock oil. 

The glass and the various liquors being 
of different densities, if you shake the 
phial, and then let it rest a few moments, 
the three liqiiors will entirely separate, and 
each assume its place ; thus forming no in- 
different resemblance of the four elements, 



IIG 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



earth, fire, water, and air ; the powdered 
glass (which should be of some dark color) 
representing the earth ; the oil of tartar, 
water ; the tincture, air ; and the rock oil, 
fire. 

PAPER PARACHUTE. 

To make a toy paper parachute, take a 
square piece of tissue or other light paper, 
and fold it from corner to corner into a 
triangular shape ; fold it again from corner 
to corner, and again a third time fold it 
in the same way, and then double it so as 
to give it the appearance shown by Fig. i 
in the accompanying diagram. Cut with 
a sharp penknife through all the folds of 
the paper, shown by the dotted lines, and 
pierce a hole at the point marked A quite 




Fig^ 



PAPER parachute;. 



through ; then, when the paper is opened 
out, it will be found to be as shown in 
Fig. 2. 

Fasten threads, all of which are to be of 
the same length, through each hole ; bring 
the loose ends of the thread to a point, 
fasten them there together, and attach to 
them a piece of cardboard or folded paper 
as ballast. The whole toy will then be 
complete, as shown in Fig 3. If the para 
chute be then taken into the open air, and 
when a good breeze is blowing, the air will 
soon catch under the toy and carry it up 
to a considerable height. 

In the absence, however, of a wind, it 



requires some dexterity to set the para- 
chute off successfully, and it may be much 
aided by the use of an arrow and a com- 
mon bow. A small hole is cut in the top 
of the paper, in which the point of an 
arrow is inserted and fixed to the end by a 
little paste or gum. The ends of the 
thread should then be tied at about half- 
way down the shaft of the arrow, and, 
when complete, it will have very much 
the appearance of a closed parasol {see 

Fig. 4). 

If the arrow is then placed on the string 
of the bow and shot into the air, the para- 
chute will on coming down open out and 
sail away gracefully, and more or less 
swiftly according to the current of air into 
which it may be propelled from the bow. 

THE MAGIC TUMBLER. 

The air which for about forty miles sur- 
rounds our earth has a definite weight ; 
and although we can neither see nor feel it, 
we are conscious of its presence by the 
momentary operation of breathing. The 
weight of a column of air one inch square, 
and forty miles high, is about fifteen 
pounds. The reason why we are not 
crushed down by this enormous weight is, 
because we are surrounded on all sides by 
it, and as the pressure or weight is equal 
all around, it becomes, as far as we are per- 
sonally concerned, insensible. 

That the air does exert a definite pressure, 
in consequence of its weight, may be easily 
proved by any one with the above simple 
apparatus — only a tumbler and a sheet of 
paper. Fill a tumber quite full of water, 
and carefully draw over its top a sheet of 
clean letter paper, and be careful to see 
that there are no bubbles of air in the 
water ; place your hand over the paper 
while inverting it, and when the glass is 
mouth downwards the water will be kept 







W 



I 
Q 

O 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



117 



in, until the paper becomes wet through. 
The air pressing against the mouth of the 
tumbler is of greater weight than the con- 
tained water, and so until some air can get 
in, to supply the place of the water, it can- 
not fall out. 

EXPERIMENTS IN GALVANISM. 

Electro-magnetism, that is, magnetism 
produced by electricity, is a brilliant dis- 
covery of the present century. Dr. Frank- 
lin believed a connection to exist between 
electricity and magnetism, from the cir- 
cumstance that the poles of the compass- 
needle had been frequently reversed during 
thunder storms, and that the same effect 
could be produced by electrical discharges. 
To determine this connection, Professor 
Oersted, of Copenhagen, made some ex- 
periments in the year 1807 y ^^^ ^^ ^^^ Jiot 
complete the discovery until 1820. 

The terms Galvanism and Voltaism are 
also given to electricity under a peculiar 
form; these being derived from Galvani 
and Volta, the discoverers. Chemical 
electricity would, however, be a fitter term 
for galvanism and voltaism, as well as for 
electro-magnetism, since the galvanic or 
electro-magnetism is excited by chemical 
agency, that is, by the action of acids on 
metals ; and the electric power by friction, 
or by induction from the atmosphere. 

Coat the point of your tongue with tin- 
foil, and its middle part with gold or silver 
leaf, so that the two metals touch, when a 
sourish taste will be produced. This sim- 
ple effect is termed ^'a galvanic tongue." 

Galvanic experiments may be made 
with the legs of a frog. A live flounder 
will answer nearly the same purpose. Lay 
the fish in a plate, upon a slip of zinc, to 
which is attached a piece of wire, and put 
a quarter dollar upon the flounder's back ; 
then touch the quarter dollar with the 



wire, and at each contact strong muscular 
contraction will be produced. 

Place a thin plate of zinc upon the up- 
per surface of the tongue, and a half dol- 
lar or a piece of silver on the under sur- 
face. Allow the metals to remain for a 
little time in contact with the tongue be- 
fore they are made to touch each other, 
that the taste of the metals themselves 
may not be confounded with the sensation 
produced by their contact. When the 
edges of the metals, which project beyond 
the tongue, are then suffered to touch, a 
galvanic sensation is produced, which it is 
difficult accurately to describe. 

Place a silver teaspoon as high as possi- 
ble between the gums and the upper lip, 
and a piece of zine between the gums and 
the under lip. On bringing the e?ctremi- 
ties of the metals into contact, a very vivid 
sensation, and an effect like a flash of light 
across the eyes, will be perceived. It is 
singular that this light is equally vivid in 
the dark, and in the strongest light, and 
whether the eyes be shut or open. 

Put a silver cup or mug, filled with 
water, upon a plate of zinc on a table, and 
just touch the water with the tip of the 
tongue ; it will be tasteless so long as the 
zinc plate is not handled, for the body 
does not form a voltaic circle with the 
metals. Moisten your hand well, take 
hold of the plate of zinc, and touch the 
water with your tongue, when a very pe- 
culiar sensation, and an acid taste, will be 
experienced. 

Take a piece of copper of about six 
inches in width, and put upon it a piece of 
zinc of rather smaller dimensions, insert- 
ing a piece of cloth,of the same size as the 
zinc, between them ; place a leech upon 
the piece of zinc, and though there ap- 
pear nothing to hinder it from crawling 
away, yet it will not pass from the zinc to 



118 



PARIvOR MAGIC. 




the copper, because its damp body acting 
as a conductor to the fluid disturbed, as 
soon as it touches the copper it receives a 
galvanic shock, and of course retires to its 
resting place. 

THE BALANCED COIN. 

This engraving represents what seems to 
be an astounding statement, namely, that 
a quarter or other piece of money can be 

made to spin on 
the point of a 
needle. To per- 
form this experi- 
ment procure a 
bottle, cork it, and 
in the cork place a 
needle. Now take 
another cork and 
cut a slit in it so 
that the edge of 
the coin will fit 
into the slit ; next 
place two forks in 
the cork, as seen in the engraving, and 
placing the edge of the coin on the needle, 
it will spin round without falling off. 

The reason is this, that the weight of the 
forks, projecting as they do so much beloiA^ 
the coin, brings the centre of gravity of 
the arrangement much below the point of 
suspension or the point of the needle, and 
therefore the coin remains perfectly safe 
and upright. 

THE MAN IN THE MOON. 

This is glorious fun for the long even- 
ings, and will be found a valuable addi- 
tion to the amusements provided at even- 
ing parties. In a room with folding doors, 
which will be the best suited to the pur- 
pose — or otherwise it must be suspended 
from the ceiling — strain a large sheet 
across the partition. In the front room 



liALANCED COIN. 



place the company, who will remain in 
comparative darkness, and in the back 
room put a bright lamp or candle, with a 
looking-glass reflector, or a polished tin 
one if it be convenient, on the ground. 
When an individual stands between the 
light and the sheet, his reflection, magni- 
fied to immense proportions, will be thrown 
forward on the screen, and when he jumps 
over the light, it will appear to the specta- 
tors in front, as if he had jumped upwards 
through the ceiling. 

Some amusing scenes may thus be con- 
trived with a little ingenuity. Chairs and 
tables may be called down from above 
by simply passing them across the light ; 
a struggle between two seeming comba- 
tants may take place, and one be seen to 
throw the other up in the air on the same 
principle. A game at cards, with pieces 
of cardboard cut out so as to represent the 
pips, may be played out, and beer poured 
from a jug into a glass, sawdust giving the 
best shadowy imitation of the fluid, may 
be imbibed during the game with great 
effect. Care should be taken to keep the 
profile on the screen as distinct as possible, 
and practice will soon suggest some highly 
humorous situations. 

THE WATCH TRICK. 

If a person will tell you the hour he 
means to dine, you can tell him the hour 
he intends to get up that morning. First 
ask a person to think of the hour he in- 
tends rising on the following morning ; 
when he has done so, bid him to place his 
finger on any hour he pleases on the dial 
of your watch, and to remember the hour 
he first thought of 

To the hour his* finger is on you now 
mentally add 12, and request him to retro- 
grade, counting the number of hours you 
mention, whatever that may be, but that 



PARI.OR MAGIC. 



110 



he is to commence counting with the hour 
he thought oifroni the hour he points at ; 
for example, suppose he thought of rising 
at 8, and places his finger on 12 as the hour 
of dinner, you desire him to count back- 
wards 24 hours, 12 he calls 8 (that being 
the hour he thought of rising), 1 1 he calls 
9, 10 he calls 10, and so on (mentally but 
not aloud) until he has counted 24, at 
which point he will stop, which will be at 
8, and he will express his surprise to find 
that it is the hour he thought of rising. 

HOW TO PUT AN EGG INTO A 
SMALL-NECKED BOTTLE. 

Steep the ^%^ in vinegar for some time, 
when the shell will become perfectly soft 
and pliable. It can then be forced into the 
bottle. If water be afterwards poured into 
the bottle, the ^^^ will regain its proper 
shape and constituency, and will puzzle 
many as to how it got into the bottle. 

THE "TWENTY-CENT" TRICK. 

This ingenious deception, which appears 
so marvellous to the eyes of the uniniti- 
ated, is thus performed. Borrow twenty 
cents from the company, which display on 
a plate, having previously prepared five 
cents in your left hand, which you keep 
concealed. Then take the cents from the 
plate in the right hand, and mixing them 
with the concealed five, give them to one 
of the company to hold. Ask the posses- 
sor to return five to you, which he will do, 
supposing he then retains only fifteen, al- 
though, in reality, he of course has twenty. 

Now, have another cent palmed in your 
right hand, so that when giving the five 
cents to another person to hold, you may 
mix it with that sum, and place the six 
cents in his hand. You may now ask him 
as before to return one ; when you take it 
remind him he has only four and you must 



now proceed with the most marvellous 
part of your illusion. Taking the one 
cent you have just received in the right 
hand, palm it, and pretend to place it in the 
left. Then striking the left hand with 
your magic rod, bid it fly into the closed 
hand of the person holding five, or, as he 
supposes, the four cents. On unclosing 
the hand, the cents will of course appear 
to have been transferred thither, and great 
amazement will result. 

Now taking the five cents, make a more 
dexterous pass into the left hand, whence 
you bid them fly into the closed hand of 
the person holding the supposed fifteen, 
and whom you now ask to return you the 
full sum of twenty cents, much to his own 
wonder and that of the company. If exe- 
cuted with care and dexterity, no illusion 
can be more effective. 

THE VANISHING DIME. 

This is a clever trick, and may be done 
with good effect in the following manner : 
— Previously stick a small piece of white 
wax on the nail of your middle finger, lay 
a dime on the palm of your hand, and state 
to the company that you will make it van- 
ish at the word of command, at the same 
time observing that many persons per- 
form the feat by letting the dime fall 
into their sleeve, but to convince them 
that you have not recourse to such decep- 
tion, turn up your cuffs. 

Then close your hand, and by bringing 
the waxed nail in contact with the dime, 
it will firmly adhere to it. Then blow 
upon your hand and cry ''begone;" and 
suddenly opening it, and extending your 
palm, you show that the dime has van- 
ished. Care must be taken to remove the 
wax from the dime before restoring it to 
the owner, if it should have been borrowed 
from one of the company. 



120 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



THE DISAPPEARING COIN. 

To place a small coin in a pocket hand- 
kerchief, and wrap it carefully up; then to 
unfold the handkerchief, and make the 
coin disappear. To perform this seem- 
ingly impossiuie feat, all you have to do is 
take a hall-dime and privately place a 
piece of soft wax on one side of it ; then 
spread a pocket handkerchief upon a 
table, and taking up the coin, show it to 
your audience — being very careful not to 
expose the side that has the wax on it ; 
then place it in the centre of the handkei 




FIG. NO. I, 




have done this, fold over successively the 
corners marked B, C and D, and the hand- 
kerchief will assume the shape of Fig. 
No. 2. 

Then again fold over the corners B, C 
and D (Fig. No. 2), leaving the corner A, 
open. Having done this, take hold of the 
handkerchief with both hands, as repre- 




^wp 



Vn 



FIG. NO. 2. 

chief, with the waxed side up, at the same 
time bring over the corner of the handker- 
chief marked A, as represented in Fig. No. 
I, and completely hide the coin from the 
view of the spectators ; this must be care- 
fully done, or the company will discover 
the wax on the coin. 

You must now press on the coin very 
hard with your thumb, so as to make it 
adhere to the handkerchief; when you 



FIG. NO. 3. 

sented in Fig. No. 3, at the opening A, 
and sliding your fingers along the edge of 
the same, it will become unfolded, and the 
coin, adhering to the corner of the hand- 
kerchief, will of course come into your 
right hand ; then detach the coin shake 
out the handerchief, and to the great as- 
tonishment of the company, the coin will 
have disappeared. 

In order to convince the audience that the 
coin is still in the handkerchief after you 
have wrapped it up, you can drop it on 
the table, when it will sound against the 
wood. 

This IS an easy trick to perform, and, if 
well done, is calculated to create nmch as-- 
tonishment at an evening party. 

THE MAGIC THREAD, 

This is made by soaking a piece of 
thread in a solution of salt or alum ; affix- 
ing on it a light finger ring, and applying 
the thread to the flame of a candle ; after 
it is burnt to ash it will nevertheless con- 
tinue to support the ring. 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



121 



INSTANTANEOUS CRYSTALLIZA- 
TION. 
Make a concentrated solution of sulphate 
of soda, or Glauber's salts, adding to it 
gradually portions of boiling water until the 
fluid dissolves no more. Pour the solution, 
whilst in a boiling state, into phials pre- 
viously warmed ; cork them immediately to 
exclude the air from the solution ; place 
them in a secure place, without shaking 
them, and the solution >vill cool ; remove 
the cork, and as soon as the atmospheric air 
becomes admitted, it will begin to cry- 
stallize on the surface, and the crystalliza- 
tion is complete. 

EATING A CANDLE AFTER LIGHT- 
ING IT. 

This is done by cutting a piece of apple 
the shape required, and sticking into it a 
little piece of nut or almond, to make 
it resemble the stump of a candle. The 
almond wick can be lighted, and will burn 
for about a minute, so that the deception is 
perfect. You can afterwards eat it in the 
presence of the company. This candle 
should be already in front of the audience, 
and should be placed in a candlestick, and 
if well introduced it goes down (in more 
senses than one) capitally. 

THE BOOMERANG. 

The Boomerang is a weapon used by the 
savages of Australia. By them it is made 
of a flat piece of hard wood. The pecu- 
liarity of this instrument is, that in what- 
ever direction it is -thrown, it will return to 
the place from whence it started. The 
Australian aborigines use it with great 
dexterity, making it travel around a house 
and return to their feet, or they can throw 
it on the ground so that it will fly into the 
air, form .a perfect arc over their heads, 



and strike them on the back. This curious 
instrument can be made in miniature, and 
is a very amusing toy for the parlor. 

HOW TO MAKE A PARLOR BOOMERANG. 

Get a piece of tolerably stiff" cardboard, 
and cut from it a figure resembling No. i, 
and you will have a Boomerang. 



3 



BOOMERANG, NO. I. 



The next thing is to propel it through the 
air so that it will return to your feet ; to 




BOOMERANG, NO. 2. 

do this lay the Boomerang on a flat book 
allowing one end to project about an inch, 
then holding the book at a slight angle to 
strike the projecting end of the boomerang 
with a piece of stick or heavy penholder, 
as represented in No. 2, when it will fly 
across the room and return to your feet. 



122 



PARI^OR MAGIC. 




THE MAGIC COIN. 



THE MAGIC COIN. 

Although a purely sleight-of-hand trick, 
it requires but little practice to perform it 
\vith dexterity. Take a quarter of a dol- 
lar between the thumb and forefinger of 
the right hand, as represented in the ac- 
companying cut, then, by a rapid twist of 
the fingers, twirl the coin by the same mo- 
tion that you would use to spin a teetotum, 

at the same time 
^ rapidly close your 
hand, and the 
coin will disap- 
pear up your coat- 
sleeve ; you can 
now open your 
hand, and, much 
to the astonishment of your audience, the 
coin will not l^e there. 

This capital trick may be varied in a 
hundred ways. One good way is to take 
three dimes or quarters, and concealing 
one in the palm of your left hand, place 
the other two, one each between the thumb 
md forefinger of each hand, then give the 
coin in the right hand the twirl as already 
described, and closing both hands quickly, 
the coin in the right hand will disappear 
up your sleeve, and the left hand, on being 
unclosed, will be found to contain two 
quarters, whilst that which zuas in the 
right will have disappeared. . Thus you 
will make the surprised spectators believe 
that you conjured the coin from the right 
hand into the left. 

FIRE IN WATER. 

If a few pieces of phcsphuret of lime be 
placed in a tumbler of water, it will be 
decomposed, and bright flashes of light 
will dart from the surface of the water, 
])rescnting to those who are unacquainted 
with the cause, a very striking pheno- 
menon. 



FOUNTAIN OF FIRE. 

Add gradually one ounce of sulphuric 
acid to six ounces of water in an earthen 
basin. Then add three-quarters of an 
ounce of granulated zinc, with a few pieces 
of phosphorus the size of a pea. Gas-bub- 
bles will be innnediately produced, which 
take fire on the surface of the effervescing 
liquid, and the whole surface of the liquid 
will directly become illuminated ; fire-balls 
and jets of fire will dart from the bottom 
through the fluid with great rapidity. 

THE MAGIC INCENDIARY. 

A vessel containing a certain white 
powder is placed upon the table by the 
wizard— -the man who is held in great awe 
by the juveniles, on account of his seem- 
ing supernatural powers, and yet beloved 
by them because he affords them much 
pleasure by the exhibition of his talents, 
to say nothing of the bon-bons, apples, 
oranges, almonds, and sugar-plums which 
he causes to issue from an apparently 
empty drawer, or handkerchief, and upon 
which they are allowed to feast. 

This said wizard having placed the 
above-mentioned powder on the table, now 
advances, waving his wand and uttering 
the magic words, cassafclto, presto^ aldibo- 
rontiphoskiphorniosticos^ when lo ! of a sud- 
den the room is lighted up with a brilliant 
light, so effiilgent that it dims the eyes of 
the spectators ! 

The secret is this : — The powder is com- 
posed of equal weights of loaf-sugar and 
chlorate of potash, separately reduced to 
fine powder, and then w^ll mixed together. 
This is placed in some vessel, such as a 
cup, or in fact anything that will prevent 
the fire from injuring the table. When 
this powder is touched with the least drop 
of sulphuric acid it will instantly burst 
into a flame ; if therefore the end of the 



w 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



123 



glass rod be dipped in the acid immedi- 
ately before use, it will on being brought 
into contact with the deflagrating powder 
cause it to ignite. 

THE MINERAL CHAMELEON. 

When one part of black oxide of man- 
ganese and three parts of nitrate of potass, 
both reduced to powder, and mixed together, 
are exposed in a crucible to a strong heat 
for about an hour, or as long as any gas con- 
tinues to be disengaged, a compound of 
highly oxidized manganese and potass, 
possessed of some very curious properties, 
is obtained. 

Experiment i . A few grains of this com- 
pound, put into a wine glassful of water, 
produces a green color ; an increase of the 
quantity changes the color to a blue ; more 
still, to 2l purple ; 2,rA a yet further increase 
produces a beautiful deep purple. 

Experiment 2. Put equal quantities of 
this substance into two separate wine 
glasses, and add to the one hot^ and to the 
other cold^ water. The hot solution will be 
of a beautiful green color ; the cold one of a 
deep purple. By using more glasses, and water 
more or less in quantity, and at different 
temperatures, a great variety of colors will 
be produced in this way from the same sub- 
stance. 

TO SET A COMBUSTIBLE BODY ON 
FIRE BY THE CONTACT OF COLD 
WATER. 

Fill a saucer with water, and let fall in- 
to it a piece of potassium, of the size of a 
peppercorn (which is about two grains). 
The potassium will instantly become red 
hot, with a slight explosion, and burn 
vividly on the surface of the water, darting 
at the same time from one side of the vessel 
to the other, with great violence, in the 
form of a red-hot fire ball. 



DECEPTIVE VISION. 

Stick a fork in the wall, about four or 
five feet from the floor, and on the end of 
it place a cork ; then tell some person to 
place his forefinger by the side of the cork ; 




DECEPTIVE VISION. 

when he has measured the height care- 
fully, tell him to walk backwards about 
five yards, then shut one eye, and walk 
forward and try to knock the cork off the 
fork with one blow of the forefinger. The 
probabilities are, that he will make the 
attempt a dozen times before he is suc- 
cessful. 

COMBUSTION UNDER WATER. 

Put a small quantity of hyper-oxi- 
muriate of potass and a bit of phosphorus 
into a wine glass ; pour on them cold water. 
Take a glass tube and dip one end into 
sulphuric acid ; press with the finger upon 
the upper orifice to retain it convey the end 
to the botton of the glass, take away the 
finger, and the combustion will take place 
instantly. 

TO CAUSE WATER TO BOIL ON 
THE SURFACE OP ICE. 

To effect this, first freeze a quantity of 
water in the bottom of a long glass tube, 
closed at one end, either by exposure to 
cold air, or by means of d, freezing mixture ; 
say equal parts of nitrate of ammonia and 
water. Then cover the cake of ice by a 
quantity of water, and hold the tube (with- 
out handling the part of it containing the 
ice) in such a manner over a lamp, that the 



124 



PARLOR MAGIC. 



surface of the water may be heated to the 
point of boiling; for this the tube requires to 
be placed, in a diagonal direction, which is 
such as allows the water at the top of it to 
be heated, while the ice remains unheated 
below. 

THE MIMIO GAS HOUSE. 

The next illustration shows a simple 
way of making illuminating gas by means 
of a tobacco pipe. Bituminous coal con- 
tains a number of chemical compounds, 




THE MIMIC GAS HOUSE. 

nearly all of which can, by distillation, be 
converted into an illuminating gas; and 
with this gas nearly all our cities are now 
lighted in the dark hours of night. To 
make it as represented in our engraving, 
obtain some coal dust (or walnut or butter- 
nut meats will answer), and fill the bowl 



of a pipe with it ; then cement the top 
over with some clay, place the bowl in the 
fire and soon smoke will be seen issuing 
from the end of the stem ; when that has 
ceased coming, apply a light, and it will 
burn brilliantly for several minutes ; after 
it has ceased, take the pipe from the fire 
and let it cool, then remove the clay, 
and a piece of coke will be found inside ; 
this is the excess of carbon over the hydro- 
gen contained in the coal, for all the 
hydrogen will combine with carbon at a 
high temperature, and make what are 
called hydro-carbons — a series of sub- 
stances containing both these elemental 
forms of matter. 

TO CAUSE FIRE TO BURN UNDER 
WATER. 

You call for a pail of water, and having 
a certain composition in your hand, which 
you apply fire to, you throw it into the 
water, and to the great astonishment of the 
company, it will burn under the water till 
quite spent. 

For the performance of this curious trick, 
by which many a wager has been won, take 
three ounces of powder, one ounce of 
saltpetre, and three ounces of sulphur 
vivum, beat and mix them well together ; 
then fill a pasteboard or paper mould with 
the composition, and it will burn till 
entirely consumed, under the water. 




PALMISTRY; 

OR, 

How TO Read the Hand 



Y noting the lines in 
the palm of the hand, 
it is maintained by 
many persons that the 
character, occupation, 
and fortune of the in- 
dividual can be cor- 
rectly told. The sci- 
ence of palmistry, if 
such it can be called, 
is an old one. Those 
who practice fortune 
telling often use this 
method for making their predictions. 
There can be no objection to palmistry as 
a parlor amusement. Whatever science is 
required for fore-telling the future from 
the hand may be acquired from the follow- 
ing pages. Certain lines of the hand are 
supposed to mean certain things, and after 
this meaning is learned it becomes easy to 
amuse an evening company, as all the 
company will be quite eager to have their 
various fortunes told. 

That there are many persons who really 
believe palmistry to be a true science there 
can be no doubt. You are not required to 
believe it, however, in order to make it a 
most amusing exercise for the entertain- 
ment of your friends. • 

Chirognomy, understood as distinct from 
Chiromancy, is the science by which we can 
tell the dispositions, proclivities, char- 
acters, and occupations of those with whom 



we are thrown in contact, by the mere 
actual shape of the hands, their outward 
appearances, and the impressions they give 
to the senses of vision and touch. D' Arpen- 
tigny was the great high priest of this 
, branch of the science (as Desbarrolles was 
of the other), and he divided all hands into 
seven categories, as follows : — 

1. The Elementary (or Ivarge-palmed). 

2. The Necessary (or Spatulate). 

3. The Artistic (or Conical). 

4. The Useful (or Square). 

5. The Philosophical (or Knotty). 

6. The Psychic (or Pointed). 

7. The Mixed Hand. 

If the palm of the hand is too meagre 
and narrow, it shows a feeble disposition, 
wanting in versatility or fertility of con- 
ception, a nature of weak passions, and 
without power ; if it is supple and of a 
thickness and size in proportion with the 
fingers and the rest of the body, it denotes 
aptitude and brightness of idea ; if, though 
still supple, the mounds and general de- 
velopments are too marked and gross, it 
betrays sensuality and egotism ; and if at 
the other extreme it is too big, too fat and 
gross in itself, it indicates a character void 
of refinement, and instincts inclining to 
animality. 

The delicacy of hand or foot carries 
itself even to the lower animals, for whilst 
horses, asses, mules, cows, pigs, and other 
animals noted for their stupidity have but 

125 



126 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



solid horn feet, the higher animals, and 
those possessing most instinct, snch as the 
felidai, dogs, monkeys, and the like, have 
their feet more or less articulated and deli- 
cate as they stand higher or lower in the 
grr.de of animal intelligence. 

The fingers, again, are smooth, or 
knotted, and, among the latter, some hands 
? have fingers with two knots, and others 
with only one. If your second joints {i. <?., 
those nearest the nails) are developed, you 
have a well-ordered mind ; if both joints 
are developed, this orderliness and method 
are the more pronounced. With both joints 
well developed you will be punctual, tidy, 
systematic, and methodical in your course 
of action. If you have no knots in your 
fingers, ?. i\, if neither joint is developed, 
your natural tendency will be towards art, 
and your course of action will be rather in- 
spired than reasoned out ; you will be 
guided by fancy and sentiment rather than 
knowledge. 

PRACTICAL HANDS. 

The fingers, whether knotted or smooth, 
have the third phalange (that which bears 
the nail) neither pointed, conical, square 
or spatulated. Take two hands both spat- 
ulated, but one smooth and the other 
knotty. Both subjects or persons will be 
active, will have an aptitude for physical 
activity, and an inclination to regard 
things from their useful, practical side. 

Both will appreciate things rca/^ physi- 
cal force, calculation, sciences, natural, ex- 
perimental and physical, and so on. But 
the subject with smooth fingers will suc- 
' ceed in these arts by inspiration, spontan- 
iety, locomotion ; whilst the one with 
jointed or knotty fingers will succeed by 
calculation, reasoning and probability. 

Now take two other subjects : these have 
square tips to their fingers, but those of the 



one are smooth, and those of the other 
jointed. Both, by reason of the square 
fingers, have tastes for moral sciences, pol- 
itics, social and philosophical, didactic, 
dramatic and exact poetry, grammar, lan- 
guages, logic — in fact, the lighter forms of 
things useful and practical. They prefer 
that things should be exact and complete 
than grand and magnificent ; they have an 
aptitude for business, respect of persons, 
positive but moderate ideas ; they like to 
discover rather than to imagine. 

EXCEL IN SOME THINGS. 

They never attain the most glorious 
poetic flights, but they excel in literature, 
sciences and the more exact arts. The 
subject with smooth fingers will pursue 
rather literature, considered as literature 
only, and will pursue his tastes with spon- 
taniety, whilst the one with knotted fin- 
gers will proceed as before by calculation 
and with reason, excelling in history, geo- 
graphy, social science and the like. 

Given : two subjects, one spatulate, the 
other square, the former will be the more 
simple but the less polite ; he will have 
greater freedom but less elegance. 

Take now a subject having smooth fin- 
gers ending conically, or like a thimble. 
You will find the fine arts, sculpture, vig- 
orous painting and monumental architec- 
ture, imaginative but reasonable poetry, 
love of the beautiful from its sensible and 
reasonable point of view, romance, dislike 
of abstruse calculation, love of independ- 
ence, enthusiasm sometimes subject to 
fantasy. If the hand, instead of being 
smooth, be knotty, you will find the same 
tendencies, but with more moral force and 
character. 

If knotted fingers have the outer phar 
lange square ami pointed, they indicate a 
nature prone to speculative ideas, medita- 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



127 



tlon and the most philosophical sciences. 
They indicate love of stern truth, poetry 
of reason and thought, logic, independence 
religious, social and political, deism, de- 
mocracy and liberty. That is what we 
call the philosophic hand, and is more 
theoretical than practical. 

Here is another hand, this time with 
smooth fingers, and having the third pha- 
lange very pointed and drawn out. Here 
we have ideality, religion and contem- 
plation in their highest development, 
indifference to material interests, poetry of 
soul and heart, desire for love and liberty, 
adoration of the beautiful in the "hysteri- 
cal" abstract. 

FINGERS CONTRASTED. 

It will be seen, therefore, that spatiilate 
and square fingers monopolize matter and 
reality — i. e.^ industries, and useful and 
necessary arts, action, theory based on /^r^.f, 
and intellectual science, whilst conical and 
pointed fingers indicate — the first, art, by 
love of the beautiful in its actuality, and 
the second ; the true and beautiful, in 
their inner significance, and the most ideal 
and lofty poetry and idealism. 

A hand which is hard and stiff, and has 
a difiiculty in opening to its full extension, 
indicates obstinacy and stubbornness. A 
large hand indicates love of minutiae and 
detail ; a medium hand takes in details, 
but also appreciates entirety. Amongst 
musical people the most correct and learned 
musicians have square fingers ; instrumen- 
tation, whether it be the art of performing 
or composing for instruments, is invaria- 
bly found in spatulate fingers ; whilst 
.singers have nearly always the third pha- 
lange pointed. 

Thus it will be understood, that whilst 
knots beautify and improve a spatulate or 
square fingered hand on account of their 



natural usefulness and aptitude for combi- 
nation, to have the joints largely developed 
would be a deformity and misfortune to a 
pointed or conical-fingered hand, seeing 
that the latter are devoted to the finer and 
more liberal arts, which necessarily suc- 
ceed best when they are the offspring of 
inspiration and spontaniety. 

The inherent natural shape of a hand 
never alters. Its concomitant coiiditions 
may be changed by the subject being 
forced into an occupation the opposite of 
his genius, inclination and natural ten- 
dency, but the original aptitude, and the 
form of finger which denotes it, always 
remain. Thus : if a subject obviously in- 
clined towards, and born for, poetry or art 
be forced by circumstances to become an 
engineer, or to pursue any other practical 
employment, the hand will become hard, 
gross and mechanical, but the pointed 
smooth shape will still remain undisguised. 

Take the absolute rustic, free as air, 
without thought or mental cares of any 
kind, his hand will be spatulate or square, 
with large joints. Take the circus- rider, 
juggler, gymnast, dancer, rider and so on, 
his hand will be either spatulate and 
smooth, or large and conical and very 
hard, for these possess a kind of rugged, 
instinctive grace. Amongst literary men 
and women the hands will be formed ac- 
cording to the subjects on which, and the 
styles in which, they write. 

It would be easy to pursue this theme, 
had we time and space for it, adinfinitiim ; 
but though we might make ourselves 
clearer on the subject, we should neces- 
sarily be obliged to repeat ourselves. An 
intelligent perusal v/ill give the reader 
every necessary information concerning 
the palm and fingers of the hand, from a 
general point of view, so that we can now 
proceed to the consideration of the most 



128 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



important part of the hand, and that is the 
thumb. 

"In default of other proofs," said Sir 
Isaac Newton, " the thumb would convince 
me of the existence of God." 

The Thumb is the most essential part of 
the human hand, for without it the fingers 
would be comparatively useless. It is the 
thumb which constitutes the great differ- 
ence between the hand of man and the foot 
of the higher animals ; the nearest approach 
to the human thumb, ?. r., the monkey's, is 
short, and almost immobile, and, there- 
fore, as compared with the human thumb, 
is almost reduced to the rank of a fifth 
finger, or nail. 

MEANING OF THE THUMB. 

The ancient Romans used to denote a 
coward by the words "pollice truncatus" 
(a man with his thumb cut off), a term 
which had its origin in the practice of cer- 
tain pusillanimous slaves, who used to cut 
off their thumbs to avoid being sent to the 
wars, they being considered unfit for any- 
thing after suffering this disfigurement; 
and it is from this phrase that is derived 
our English word poltroon, through the 
French poltroji. In the human thumb lie 
the indications of his will and intellect ; 
people who are born idiots come into the 
world either without thumbs or with their 
thumbs quite abortive and useless. 

A baby, before it can exercise its will, it 
will be observed, always keeps its fingers 
closed over its thumbs, whereas a reason- 
ing man, when exercising his will or deter- 
mination, almost invariably closes his 
thumb across his fingers. Epileptic pa- 
tients during their fits always fold their 
thumbs inside their hands; indeed, the 
approach of their fits are often heralded by 
the preliminary folding of their thumbs. 

At the root of the thumb, says the twin 



science Chiromancy, lie the indications 
more or less developed of a tendency to 
love ; and is not love only an exercise of 
the will, amounting to longing ? The first 
phalange we denominate the phalange of 
logic, /. ^., perception, judgment, and 
reason, whilst in the second (or outer) 
phalange we look for the indications of will, 
invention, decision, and prompt action. 

The Romans, again, to return to their 
recognition of the thumb as an indication 
of will, used it in their gladiatorial dis- 
plays, to show, by its erection or depres- 
sion, their will concerning the defeated 
combatant. If the second or outer phalange 
of your thumb be narrow, mean, and short, 
your will is a weak one ; you are prone to 
accept received notions, tc be guided by 
others; you are doubtful, uncertain, and 
indifferent. 

People whose thumbs are small are more 
sentimental than others whose thumbs are 
in proportion, or large, and they act more 
on impulse than reflection ; those whose 
thumbs are large have consequently exactly 
opposite characteristics. A large thumb 
usually indicates independence, a tendency 
towards despotism, presence of power, but 
power born of force, not of charm. Follow- 
ing these reasonings you will find that per- 
sons with a taste for the occult sciences 
have large thumbs. 

Any one who has smooth fingers and a 
small thumb has (whatever may be the 
form of the third phalange of his fingers) 
an inborn tendency to poetry and art, 
though he may not have the talent to cul- 
tivate them. We know an eminent literary 
man whose ideas in general are of the most 
matter-of-fact description, who sits wrapt 
and spell-bound at hearing beautiful music 
or poetry, though lie has not the least talent 
for either of these arts ; his fingers are 
smooth, but spatulate with small thumbs. 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



129 



Subjects with conical or pointed fingers 
and large thumbs temper their idealism 
and art by deduction and reason ; in fact, 
their temperament resembles that of sub- 
jects with square fingers, but a small 
thumb. 

Carrying, therefore, your mind back to 
what we said concerning the characteristics 
indicated by the forms of the fingers, yon 
will arrive at this deduction, that the sub- 
ject with smooth, conical, or pointed fingers 
will have the characteristics of that form 
the more strongly developed if he has also 
a small thumb, whilst the subject with 
knotted fingers, terminating squarely or in 
spatule, will be the more powerfully ad- 
dicted to the tendencies of that form, if to 
them he adds a thumb which is large. 
Thus by their nature people with large 
thumbs can produce results unnatural to 
them more easily than those with- small ; 
for example, a large-thumbed mechanican 
may bring himself to write poetry, but a 
small-thumbed poet can never become a 
practical calculator. 

By consistency, we mean the impression 
produced by a hand upon the sense of 
touch. Thus two hands may be of the 
same size and shape, the fingers of both 
formed and terminating in the same man- 
ner, but with this difference; that one 
hand is soft and supple, whilst the other is 
firm, almost to hardness. Take two hands 
with spatulate fingers possessing this dif- 
ference ; they both have the tendency 
towards action, but the soft hand will affect 
a temperate movement and activity, whilst 
the hard-handed subject will tend towards 
energy and powerful action. 

The soft-handed subject will be active, 
but take his full share of sleep, whilst the 
hard-handed one will rise with the lark to 
be up and doing. Take two artists in the 
same way ; the hard-handed one will exe- 
9 



cute works showing manly occupations and 
phases of life ; he of the soft hands will be 
less practical in his subjects, but more 
diverse, more prone to ideas of the moment 
and fancy, and possess more delicacy. 
People with soft hands always have the 
little fleshy ball on the face of the outer 
phalanges more developed, and this seems 
to give them better taste and tact. People 
with hard hands are seldom, if ever, pol- 
ished and gentle in manner, but they are 
often good-natured and sensitive ; those 
with fat, soft hands are usually indolent. 

HORNY HANDS. 

As we grow old and careworn, our hands, 
as a rule, become hard, or, at least, firm- 
skinned and stiff. This is accounted for 
by the fact that our imagination fades, our 
sense of the poetic and beautiful becomes 
less keen, and from artistic and imagina- 
tive amusements we turn to tastes for 
arrangement of house and home, garden- 
ing and the like ; and it is particularly 
noticeable, and always has been, that in 
numberless instances men with great intel- 
lects have, as their minds have faded, been 
taken with a love of manual labor, which 
shows itself in gardening particularly, the 
hands becoming parchmenty and ossified, 
apart from the question of natural decay ; 
in the same way, as with age, our joints 
become more prominent, we get less open 
to impressions, and more logical. 

Subjects with hard hands are capable of 
true and ardent love, though they are 
seldom capable of much tenderness : 
smooth-handed people, on the other hand, 
are more capable of tenderness and affec- 
tion than deep love. 

The beau ideal of a hand is that which 
is firm without being hard, and supple 
without being soft, such hands as this 
betokens a liberal intelligence and active 



130 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



mind, such subjects combine theory and 
practice ; and however much they may 
work with their fingers their hands hardly 
ever harden, and then only very slowly, 
whereas hands already very firm have a 
great tendency to become very hard. Ac- 
cording, therefore, to their temperament 
(shown in the consistency of their hands) 
people cultivate the talents and tendencies 
to which the formation of their fingers and 
hands generally incline them. 

A large, soft hand with spatulated fingers 
evidences a love of action, but not of its 
own activity. Such a subject enjoys look- 
ing on at reviews, at athletics, and at games 
of skill without taking part in them ; he 
likes to read books of travels and adven- 




FIG. T. 

tures, but does not embark upon them 
himself 

Thus, therefore, it will be seen that 
though the forms of the hand betoken 
certain tastes and characteristics, we must 
look to the consistency of the hand to see 



how those tastes are cultivated, and how 
those characteristics develop themselves. 
Having now discussed the characteristics 
of various hands, we will proceed to con- 
sider the seven types which, following 
D'Arpentigny, we set down categorically 
at the beginning of this part on Chirog- 
nomy. 

I. The Elementary Hand (Fig. i). — 
The characteristics of this hand are thick, 
stiff fingers, a short thumb, generally 
turned back, large, broad, and thick palm, 
very hard. Such is the hand of the laborer, 
the stableman, the soldier who fights onl-y 
for fighting's sake, the colonist who merely 
exists in a foreign clime by the sweat of 
his brow. Such subjects understand 
nothing but the grossly material aspect of 
things ; they are inaccessible to reason, 
their virtues are negative, they conform to 
rules from sheer want of originality. 
Such a hand betrays heaviness of soul, 
sluggish imagination, and complete indif- 
ference. The Laplanders are almost with- 
out exception of this type ; amongst the 
warm, intelligent, poetic East Indians this 
type is practically unknown. 

As a matter of fact, in warm latitudes 
(such as ours) the hand absolutely elemen- 
tary is exceedingly rare, excepting among 
the Tartars and Sclavs, whose instincts 
and ferocity are merely brutal. The sub- 
ject with elementary hands is subject to 
superstitions more or less poetic, according 
as the fingers are more or less conic ; and 
they, of all other types, succumb most 
readily to griefs and disappointments, being 
utterly void of resources. 

II. The Spatulate Hand (Fig. 2). — 
First take a spatulate hand with a big 
thumb. This subject is resolute rather 
than resigned, and is always ready to take 
measures to avert the ills which flesh is 
heir to, of which measures the conic hand 



I 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



131 



knows nothing. He has great confidence 
in himself, and there is this great differ- 
ence between the Elementary and the 
Spatulate Hand — the former seeks only 
the necessary, the latter desires and strives 
after abnndance. 

The spatulate subject possesses the in- 
stinct of self-preservation highly developed, 
and he rules the world of things material 
by natural intelligence and material in- 
stinct. Such a subject, having senses 
more active than delicate, finds it easier to 
be constant and faithful in love than it is 
for souls inclined to poesie ; he is, in fact, 
more amenable to duty and custom than 
sensitive to the charms of youth and 
beauty. Fingers smooth, but spatulate 
indicate an appreciation for elegance as 
well as comfort; but an appreciation of 
fashionable rather than artistic elegance. 

Such hands are commoner in Scotland 
than in England, in England than in 
France, and in France than in Spain, as 
also they are commoner in mountainous 
than in plain countries- People with 
spatulated fingers make excellent colon- 
ists, for they are not rendered flighty by 
tastes for poetry and art; they only be- 
come attached to the ground on account of 
its products ; they love manual labor and 
action of all kinds ; they suffer unless they 
have abundance, but do not seek after 
superfluous advantages, for they are only 
very moderately sensual, and are more 
prone to be greedy than epicurean. 

Their love of locomotion reconciles them 
to their self-imposed exile, ready for all 
events and accustomed to count on them- 
selves ; they have no objection to solitude, 
and they are clever at all physical sciences, 
attaching themselves in life only to those 
things that are immovable and constant. 

The spatulate-fingered subject admires 
architecture for its quantity rather than 



its quality, preferring the immense to the 
beautiful. He likes to be astonished, and 
to contemplate works which make liini 
think of the immense amount of physical 




labor which must have been employed to 
construct them. 

The artist is sunk in the artisan, opu- 
lence predominates over luxury ; wherever 
this type is found, i. e,^ the large hand 
with spatulate fingers and a large thumb, 
these same predilections will be the guid- 
ing rule of that subject's life, the useful 
rather than the ornamental , the necessary 
rather than the superfluous, the actual 
rather than the ideal. If the thumb be 
small their active physical instincts will be 
more unrestrained, but less pronounced 
and forcible, partaking more of the nature 
of the square hand. 

III. The Artistic Hand (Fig. 3). — 
This hand has three tendencies, which are 
very different to one another, but only 
marked by slight distinctions in the hand 



132 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



itself. These are: — (i.) A supple hand 
and a small thumb with a medium palm 
indicating love of beauty, and particularly 
of form, (ii.) Large, short and thick with 
a large thumb betrays a desire for riches, 
fortune, and greatness, (iii). Large and 
very firm hands mean a tendency to sensu- 
ality. 

All three are governed by inspiration, 
and are ill-adapted to the mechanical arts. 
The first is actuated by enthusiasm, the 
second by stratagem and scheme, and the 




FIG. 3. 

third by the suggestion of pleasure. Barr- 
ing these differences of characteristic, the 
tendencies of these hands are the same, 
though the most characteristic is that 
which has the fingers large at the first 
phalange and narrowing to a more or less 
obtuse cone. The thumb is small and the 
palm is moderately developed. 

Such a subject will attach himself, by 
instinct and without consideration, to the 
beautiful aspect of ideas and things ; he 



will prefer the ornamental to the useful 
without much regard for reality, greed)- 
of leisure, novelty, and liberty; at the same 
time ardent and timid, humble and vain, 
he is energetic and impulsive rather than 
powerful or forcible ; his spirits are apt to 
plunge from ecstasy to despair, unable to 
command, but incapable of obedience ; he 
is attracted rather than led by duty. He 
is enthusiastic and cannot put up with the 
restraints of regular, and what we migh 
call, domestic life ; his thoughts are senti- 
ments rather than ideas ; light-hearted and 
original he has generally a warm imagina- 
tion, but a cold heart. 

Such a combination of unrestrained 
instincts of pleasure and want of moral 
stamina is therefore the character of artists 
in general, or, at any rate, those who live 
only for their art. They only have lo like 
a thing to adore it ; they submit, as a rule, 
to faith and orthodoxy because thus they 
are saved the trouble of reasoning ; but 
they are intolerant of political despotism, 
because of the actual restraints it places 
upon them. 

This love of art is the first emotion to 
which an uncultivated mind is amenable ; 
a love of form and beauty often exists 
among savage tribes who are wanting in 
the utter rudiments of civilization, and for 
this reason it is the most engrossing and 
powerful of all human tendencies ; races 
who are too lazy to cultivate any other 
taste cling tenaciously to and highly de- 
velop this one ; it is thus that among the 
ignorant artistic peasantry of Southern 
Europe that this type of hand, modifying 
the elementary type, is so largely preva- 
lent. 

It is among people possessing these 
hands that we often find subjects possess- 
ing only the evil propensities of their type, 
sensuality, laziness, egotism, singularity, 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



133 



cynicism, love of dissipation, intellectual 
incapacity, sliarpiiess, and tendency to 
falsehood and exaggeration. Love, which 
is not a matter of the senses, such as filial, 
fraternal, and paternal affection, is rare 
among hands of this class, and belongs 
principally to square and spatulate hands. 

IV. The Useful Hand (Fig. 4) is of 
medium size, but inclining to large, the 
joints of the fingers developed, and the 
outer phalange square, the thumb large, 
and developed at the root, the palm of 
medium size, hollowed and firm. Perse- 
verance, foresight, order, and submission 
to rule, all qualities conspicuous by their 
absence in the artistic hand, are particu- 
larly the characteristics of the useful hand, 
i. e.^ that hand whose leading feature is the 
square tips of its fingers. 

To organize, classify and regulate is 
their province ; with them the beautiful 
and true are subordinate to theory and 
rule ; they have a strong love of similitude 
and uniformity as opposed to the change 
and contrast, which is the delight of the 
conical-fingered hand ; they appreciate the 
differences in things apparently similar and 
the points of resemblance in things out- 
wardly dissimilar. They are apt to confuse 
discipline and civilization, compulsory 
order and the order of common consent; 
they only act on the promptings of sense 
and reason, and are consequently often 
somewhat narrow-minded. 

They are polite and courteous by reason 
of their respect of persons and their sense 
of order and the fitness of things ; their 
literature is precise and careful, their 
poetry rythmic and complete, in language 
they use terms more generic than dis- 
tinctive, L ^., they will say "dog" rather 
than "mastiff," "terrier," " beagle, " or as 
the case may be; "ship" rather than 
"frigate," "man-o'-war, " "brig," and so 



on. Their books are and must be clear and 
correct in their expositions, leaving noth- 
ing to the imagination, and being well 
arranged and indexed. 

Cautious and far-seeing, they like what 
is known, but suspect what is undefined ; 
their ideas being moderate, they prefer the 
real to the apparently real ; they incline to 
men of good sense more than to men of 




FIG. 4. 

genius, and are more noted for spirit and 
talent than for imaginative faculties ; their 
moral axioms are that the good is better 
than the beautiful, and the useful is better 
than both. These qualities are apt to 
become despotic in the hold they have 
over these subjects, leading them into 
hypocrisy, which is the result of morbid 
love of reserve, regularity of conduct, and 
personal respect, coldness which they mis- 
take for moderation, flattery and adulation 
to which they are peculiarly susceptible, 
stiffness of manner, unbending punctuality, 
and steady but suppressed ambition. For 



1 



134 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



his friends such a subject chooses men 
cultivated, disciplined, and, so to speak, 
modelled on a correct pattern. 

Such subjects prefer privilege to liberty ; 
they are prepared to submit to the author- 
ity of rank, birth, law and custom, and 
they like to feel and make others feel the 
check-string. The man with large square 
hands is always neat, well brushed and 
buttoned up, or else carefully neglige ; he 




FIG. 5. 

is regular in his meals, and does not eat at 
odd hours ; his mind will be just and 
equally balanced, but he will not be bril- 
liant. There is this difference between the 
spatulate and the square hand. Both like 
and respect authority, but the former will 
be fond of the ruler individually, whilst 
the latter admires and respects the institu- 
tion of autliority itself The artistic hand 
only admires regularity when it is subser- 
vient to, and a component part of, a beau- 
tiful whole ; the useful hand only admires 
the beautiful, when that beauty is the 
result of regularity. 



Thus, therefore, it will be seen that 
though the useful hand is the most desir- 
able, from a worldly point of view, it is 
neither so happy as the artistic, nor so 
conscientious and independent as the 
spatulate, but it is the square fingers of 
the useful hand which govern almost the 
entire world. 

V. The Philosophic Hand (Fig 5). — 
Palm medium size and pliable, the fingers 
knotted, and the third phalange an obtuse 
cone verging on the square, having a sort 
of oval, clubbed appearance, consequent on 
the development of the second joint ; the 
thumb large, having its two phalanges of 
equal length, indicating an equal share of 
will and logic. The distinguishing char- 
acteristic of this particular form of exterior 
phalange or finger-tip, semi-square and 
semi-conical, is an innate tendency to 
search after, a love for, the absolute truth 
and reality of things. 

The developed joints of the philosophic 
hand give it calculation, deduction and 
method, the semi-conical shape of the 
fingers indicates an intuition of poetic in- 
stinct. Such a subject prefers reality to 
beauty, and cause rather than effect ; is 
gifted with an enthusiasm for moral, ex- 
petimental and philosophic sciences ; has a 
leaning towards analysis, i. e.^ he likes to 
sound the meaning and cause of his sensa- 
tions and ideas, the problems of creation 
and the origin of things ; he does not hold 
his opinions, belief and ideas at second- 
hand, but only after having turned them 
over, viewed them from all sides, and ex- 
amined them thoroughly. 

He is governed by reason rather than by 
faith or love, sacrificing to reason all such 
minor considerations as custom and fashion ; 
this guidini^ influence imbues him with a 
love of ethics, and political and social 



I 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



135 



economy, often leading him to scepticism 
and heresy, but never to fanaticism. He is 
open to doubt, but does not object to being 
so ; he considers things in detail, and also 
in mass ; individuals and also communi- 
ties ; he studies both the rule and its ex- 
ceptions ; the order, which is an inherent 
quality in him, shows itself in classifying 
rather than in arranging, /. ^., he will 
separate things according to their character 
and nature rather than by their size and 
appearance ; he pays no attention to vain 
scruples, superstitious terrors, and is mode- 
rate in his pleasures. 

Thus it will be seen that reason is the 
principal characteristic of this hand ; it will 
take nothing on trust ; at the same time 
there is a refinement, an appreciation of 
the beautiful, indicated by the semi-conic 
formation of the fingers. It has the actu- 
ality and truth of the spatulate hand with- 
out its stubborness and lack of refinement; 
it has the analysis of the square hand 
without its insincerity, and the refinement 
of the conic hand without its flightiness 
and selfishness. Its motto is " Moderation 
in all things, and truth in all." 

VI. The Psychic Hand (Fig. 6).— This 
is the rarest and most beautiful hand of all. 
In proportion to the formation of the sub- 
ject whose it is, it is small ; the palm is of 
medium size, the fingers without knots, 
the third phalange long and pointed, the 
thumb small and well shaped. If the hand 
is large and the joints are developed, it has 
more force than is usual, but not so much 
originality. 

Such subjects are guided by the ideal, 
by the sublime, and by the soul. They 
worship at the shrine of beauty and imagi- 
nation, and are the exact opposite of the 
philosophical-handed subject. Such sub- 
jects never become rulers or statesmen ; 
their idealism and love of the beautiful 



unreal raises them above such ambition; 
in strife they disdain small achievements, 
embarking enthusiastically on the most 
forlorn hopes, spurred to victories by their 
fervor of soul and not by their activity of 
body. Some writers have claimed these 
hands as the exclusive inheritance of the 
nobly born. 

This is a great and incomprehensible 
mistake ; for though it is always rare, it is 




FIG. 6. 

found among all classes, sometimes among 
the lowest, where it is crushed and dis- 
dained, by reason of its inability to force 
itself to manual labor. Artistic hands seek 
imagination and art everywhere, useful 
hands seek arrangement and rule, philo- 
sophic hands seek human reason ; to 
psychic hands is reserved the privilege of 
a search after ethical divine reason in its 
highest development ; theirs is the faculty 
for striving after purity and right in the 
abstract, apart from any questions of con- 
venience. 

It would be easy to rhapsodize over the 



136 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



advantages, the psychical, aesthetic advan- 
tages of this type; bnt alas! beautiful as it 
is, innately grand as it is, its impracticabil- 
ity keeps it back in the great race of life. 
Beautiful in itself it refines us, us of the 
more worldly types, but without us it 
could not live. Such natures we must 
work to support for the privilege of having 
them amongst us ! 

Vn. The Mixed Hand (Fig. 7).— This 
is the name of a rather common and rather 




FIG. 7. 

confusing type, and is the name we give to 
a hand when, by the confusion of the 
forms represented in it, it seems to belong 
to two different types. Thus, for instance, 
if in a spatulate hand the type is so slightly 
marked as to be easily mistaken for a 
square hand ; or an elementary conic hand 
which may be mistaken for an artistic 
hand ; or a highly developed artistic hand 
which may be mistaken for a psychic 
hand ; a philosophic for a useful and so on, 
and in all cases vice versa. 

Such hands partake of the nature of 



both types represented, or quasi-repre- 
sented. It is to such hands as these that 
we must look for intelligence in mixed 
works, intermediate ideas and sciences, 
which require more than mere science to 
elucidate them ; such as administration, 
the theory of commerce, arts which may 
be called unpoetic, the beauty and actu- 
ality of industry and labor, and the art of 
making the best of, and most out of, 
everything. Such hands generally indi- 
cate that the subject is (as our proverb puts 
it) "Jack-of-all -trades, master of none ;'^ 
/. ^., they are handy and clever at innu- 
merable pursuits, but they seldom excel 
greatly in any one ; as I have said just 
above, their capacity for *' making the best 
of it " and their general moral indifference 
standing in the way of excellence in any 
one line. 

They have this great difference from 
subjects whose hands are of a particular 
type; these last have talents more pro- 
nounced than versatile ; people whose 
hands are mixed are more versatile than 
individual. The former are instructive to 
talk to, the latter amusing ; the latter suc- 
ceed best when their most pronounced 
talent is assiduously cultivated, in which 
case they succeed enormously. 

Take, for instance, the example we have 
given in Fig. 7. This is what we might 
call the artistico-elementary hand. This 
ugly-looking hand, less supple and more 
thick than the true artistic hand, has not, 
however, the largeness, the grossness and 
extreme hardness of the true elementary 
hand. The fingers are big, smooth (some- 
times with one joint swollen ; not developed^ 
but swollen)^ the thumb big, and the gen. 
eral character of the hand conical. 

Such a subject is greedy but avaricious 
— i. r. , he is sensual, but he only gratifies 
his sensuality when he can do so at a small 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



137 



expense ; he is moral, but without princi- 
ple ; he keeps the law, but is not ethically 
just ; he is sanctimonious, perchance big- 
oted, without being pious; though he is 
hardy he will not endure hardships which 
bring him no corresponding advantage. 
Such a hand closes easily, but opens with 
difficulty ; this is the case, metaphorically 
as well as actually ; it is not apt at hard 
work, or manual labor, but it excels at 
scheming, arranging and negotiating for 
its own advantage, the manual labors of 
others. 

Other varieties of the mixed hand it 
would be easy to enumerate, had we space 
and time; and did we not think that the 
dissertations we have already given on the 
various types will enable the reader easily 
to decipher, or imagine such for himself, 
such would be the psychico-elementary 
hand, whose characteristics would be a 
high intelligence and love of art, but an 
ignorant indifference to things real, and so 
on ; but in all cases what virtues or good 
qualities they possess are traceable, so to 
speak, to an intellectual torpor. 

Thus far we have deemed it necessary to 
consider and discuss the sister science of 
Chirognomy before proceeding to the con- 
sideration of the actual science of Chiro- 
mancy. It is most important to be well 
grounded in Chirognomy before studying 
Chiromancy, and for obvious reasons. Be- 
fore you can tell a man his instincts, 
habits of life, his past, his present and his 
probable future, it is of the highest im- 
portance that you should have a clear in- 
sight into his character and tendencies. 
Chirognomy may be practiced without the 
subject being a consenting party, whilst 
Chiromancy necessitates, at the least, a 
close examination of the hand. Before, 
however, proceeding on our way, we shall 
pause a few moments to make a few re- 



marks, which seem to us to be necessary, 
on the subject of sex. 

The characteristics of each type, as we 
have enumerated them, apply to women 
as well as to men, though we have for con- 
venience sake, made use throughout of the 
masculine pronoun ; at the same time, 
there are certain modifications which seem 
to require exposition ; as, for instance, the 
square spatulate types are much less pro- 
nounced in woman than in man, a fact 
shown by the greater suppleness and elas- 
ticity of the female hand in general, con- 
sequent on the differences existing between 
the male and female dipositions. 

MAN AND WOMAN. 

The man creates, but the woman devel- 
ops ; to man belongs the faculty of princi- 
ple, to woman the gift of form ; our laws 
are made by man, but our morals by 
woman ; and it has been justly said that 
man is the spirit of the woman, but 
woman is the soul of the man. Few 
women have their joints developed, so 
few women have the faculty of combina- 
tion ; in intellectual occupations they 
choose generally those requiring more tact 
than science, more activity of mind than 
of body, more imagination than judgment ; 
if their hands are knotty, their intellects 
are, so to speak, diluted. 

Women may be divided by this our 
science into two classes : those with large 
and those with small thumbs; the first, 
more intelligent than sensitive, have a 
natural taste for history and similar stud- 
ies ; the second, more sensitive than intel- 
lectual, prefer romance. Consideration 
and clear-headedness is the gift of those 
with large thumbs ; love with them is more 
a matter of head than heart, but it is also 
more free and faithful, and a large- 
thumbed woman is never a coquette. 



138 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



With those who have a small thumb, on 
the contrar}', love is their all in all, and 
though they are not so clever, they are in- 
finitely more fascinating. 

The cares of womanhood, the sympathy 
which is natural to her, and the troubles 
of maternity all require and enforce a 




always marries a woman older than him- 
self, to be governed by her. 

English women usually have the exte- 
rior phalange delicately squared, conse- 
quent on their willingness to adopt house- 
hold cares. The women of the Oriental 
i harems, on the other hand, devoted unto 

A. Will. 

B. Logic. 

C. The Mount of Venus. 

D. The Mount of Jupiter. 

E. The Mount of Saturn. 

F. The Mount of the Sun. 

G. The Mount of Mercury ^ 

H. The Mount of Mars I ^. 

I The Mount of the Moon J ^^^c^ssion. 

J. The Plain of Mars 

K. The Rascetta. 

L. Square finger. 

M. Spatulate finger. 

N. Conic finger. 

O. Pointed finger. 

P. The ist Phalange. 

Q.The 2nd Phalange. 

R. The 3rd Phalange. 

S. The ist Joint (Order). 

T. The 2nd Joint (Philosophy). 

a a. Line of Life. 

b b. Line of Head. 

c c. Line of Heart. 

d d. Line of Saturn or Fate. 

e e. Line of Liver. 

/ /. Line of the Sun or Fortune. 

g g. Belt of Venus. 

//. The Quadrangle. 

i. The Triangle. 

J. The Upper Angle. 

k. The Inner Angle. 

/. The Lower Angle. 
in in m. The Bracelets of Life. 



THE HAND EXPLAINED. 



high dei^ree of intelligence ; therefore the 
elcnicntar>' hand is of extremely rare oc- 
currence among women ; and in commun- 
ities where the men represent for the most 
part this type the empire of woman is su- 
preme. Man under these circum.stances 
is dead to the charms of youth, and nearly 



death, have, generally, small, slim hands, 
with small thumbs. Such vv^omen as Char- 
lotte Corday, Sophie de Condorcet and 
Lucile Desmoulins, women whose very 
souls were permeated only with one fever- 
ish idea', had very pointed fingers. 

Take a woman with rather spatulate 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



139 



fingers and small tluimb ; snch a woman 
has an unlimited fund of affection and 
freedom of soul, love of activity, and 
knowledge of real life ; she loves and un- 
derstands horses, and all other animals ; 
her ideas are practical and useful. The 
woman with square fingers and a small 
thumb will have everything in her house 
orderly and punctual, but without tyranny 
or despotism ; by her example she keeps 
all things neat and under control. 

If she have a large thumb, it indicates a 
virago, tyrannical towards her servants 
and towards her children ; at the same 
time, the square phalange may indicate 
narrow-mindedness, prudishness and fussi- 
ness if the hand inclines to hardness. 

Little, soft, supple hands, with marked 
joints, and a pretty color, indicate sharp- 
ness, vivacity and brilliancy; love with 
them must be gay, for their sole object is 
to be merry. If a woman have hands with 
a strong palm, conic fingers, and a small 
thumb, they are most accessible to rhetoric 
and the fervid language of love, which ex- 
plains, palliates, extols all things ; to please 
them you must be brilliant, for they prefer 
oratory and persuasion to logic and sound 
sense. 

Delicate, smooth-pointed fingers, with a 
little thumb and a narrow elastic palm, 
proclaim an indolent enthusiasm ; such 
women are governed more by heart than 
by sense and spirit ; they do not care about 
the realities of life and conventional duties ; 
they are pious, but hardly devoted ; en- 
thusiastic in spirit, but not in body. 

Thus, it will be seen that, though the 
types have much the same characteristics 
among women as among men, yet to read 
the character of a woman, as shown by her 
hand, requires more tact and self-confi- 
dence than is required in reading that of a 
man. 



The hand is divided into three zones or 
parts, which are bounded by certain lines 
to be hereafter explained. Our readers 
will perceive, when they consider the 
qualities attributed to certain mounts, 
that the upper or northern divisions of 
the hand contain all the manly, aggressive 
and hardy qualities. The male portion or 
the upper part (Fig. 8) have industry in 
Mercury ; art based on sciences in Apollo ; 




FIG. 8. 

ambition and force in Jupiter ; in the 
three first fingers, or rather in their bases. 
Mark this and continue. 

Eet us look now at the southern or 
female side — the lower portion of the 
hand. Here we have sensuality, imagina- 
tion, love, and various feminine attributes 
as distinguished from hardiness and ag- 
gressiveness. This is evident. 

Now compare the inhabitants of the 
North and South countries of the world. 
Do we not find the hardy Norseman and 
the sensuous Southerner, the working, 



140 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



energetic Northerner, and the siesta-loving 
Southerner? In the one case we have the 
worker, in the other the delicate ; the 
manly qualities as a rule in one, the femi- 
nine or easy-going attributes in the other. 
This is, at any rate, a curious coincidence, 
and is really no coincidence. It is nature — 
Providence — what you will. The fact 
remains ; and the hand of man is held up 
iu the great concourse of the world to con- 




FIG. 9. 

firm the testimony of the Creator — nothing 
is in vain. 

The most casual observer of his hand 
will notice that at the base of each finger 
in the palm of the hand is a mound or 
rising, or a depression. (Fig. 9.) Each of 
these corresponds to a planet, and the star 
may be fortunate or unfortunate according 
to its development, and to the correspond- 
ing influences of the lines and marks or 
signs. The thumb is most important ; 
round its mount runs the line of life ; the 
thumb in Chiromancy is the life, and its 



I influence may be benefited or counteracted 
by the other little hills which the hand is 
heir to. The mount of the thumb is sacred 
to Vc?ins. 

The mounts beneath the four fingers are 
— commencing with the Index — Jupiter^ 
Saturn^ Apollo (the Sun), Mercury. The 
Mount of Mars is at the side of the hand 
opposite the thumb, immediately below 
the Mount of Mercury. The Mount of the 
Moon is beneath Mars at the base of the 
hand opposite the Mount of Venus. We 
may again observe that the upper or north 
of the hand is Male^ the lower portion, 
near the wrist, the southern or female part. 
The accompanying diagram and the frontis- 
piece will assist our readers in determining 
the various positions of the mounds. 

It may be accepted that when the vari- 
ous hills are properly placed in the posi- 
tions indicated, they argue the possession 
of the qualities belonging to each planet. 
For instance, Jupiter indicates pride, Sa- 
turn fatality, Apollo art or riches, Mercury 
science or wit, Mars self-restraint or per- 
haps cruelty, the Moon folly or imagina- 
tion, Venus love, even to excess and ill- 
regulated passion. 

We must also understand that when these 
mounds are very slight, their absence in- 
dicates the want of the quality in ques- 
tion — a cavity means that a corresponding 
fault is inherent, while a great excess is 
equally a defect unless counteracted by the 
influence of the lines.. Perhaps a classifi- 
cation of the various qualities of the mounts 
and their possible meanings will be more 
intelligible than a long explanation. Let 
us commence with the Thumb, the seat of 
affection. 

The Mount of Venus is at the root of 
the thumb. The line of Life encircles it 
as a river flows beneath a mountain. " Life 
is dependent on Love.' ' The presence of 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



141 



the mount supposes grace, beauty, melody 
in music, dancing, a desire to please, ten- 
derness, politeness, and kindred social 
virtues which attract the opposing sex. 
The absence of the Mount does not neces- 
sarily indicate vice, but it argues want of 
energy, selfishness, coldness, and want of 
soul generally. In excess it portends vanity, 
license, idleness, faithlessness, coquetry, 
etc. , to an extent commensurate with the 
abnormal development, if unchecked- by 
religion and good sense. 

MEANING OF JUPITER. 

The Mount of Jupiter beneath the Index- 
finger may mean ambition, honor, religion, 
love of Nature, and happy marriage ; all 
good qualities, with cheerfulness in social 
life. 

The absence of the Mount means opposite 
qualities, such as idleness, vulgar tenden- 
cies, egotism, and so on. In excess y7Q may 
look for superstition, the excess of religious 
fervor, pride, domineering tendencies, and 
so on. 

The Mount of Saturn beneath the middle 
finger is very significant. Our line of Fate 
reaches up to Saturn, so Saturn comes to 
mean Fate. He may indicate prudence 
and sagacity, or the very opposite, when 
present. His meaning must be read ** be- 
tween the lines.'' The absence of Saturn^ s 
hill tells of misfortune or a wasted exist- 
ence. The excess of it sadness and tacitur- 
nity, fear of future punishment, and even 
suicidal mania; general depression of 
spirits, with asceticism or morbidness in 
religion. 

The Mount of the Sun — Apollo — under 
the Ring finger, is predicative of taste in 
the arts ; intelligence, genius, and a gen- 
eral tendency to look upon the sunny side 
of existence. A beauty and grace of heart 
and mind are present, too, with good reli- 



gious tolerance and tendencies. A very 
excellent mound indeed. In excess we may 
imagine whither Apollo will lead us. He 
will give us a taste for display, for too 
easy-going manners, for exaggerated ten- 
dencies of a warm heart, and exaggeration 
generally, according to the modifications 
of the lines of the hands. Absent ; the 
Sun's departure will render us cold, con- 
tent with a material existence, with no 
taste for art; and, in fine, dull, chilling, 
and careless of the life we live. 

The Mount of Mercury, beneath the 
little finger, gives us many excellent quali- 
ties, and useful withal. He brings us an 
inventive genius, quickness of thought 
and action, a working mind, and brain 
with power to carry out our ideas ; indus- 
try and commercial tastes, with upright- 
ness in our dealings. Wit and lightness of 
body are also brought us by this flying 
deity. 

PRONE TO EVIL. 

The absence of this hill assures a " nega- 
tive life," and the absence of all the quali- 
ties we have enumerated. In excess he is 
bad. We have the worst side of the attri- 
butes ; dexterity descends to robbery and 
swindling, perfidy, lying, scheming, and 
pretentious ignorance ; Mercury, as we 
know, is the diety of thieves. 

The Mount of Mars may be easily inter- 
preted. It denotes courage and coolness in 
danger, *' proper pride," self-control, reso- 
lution, and kindred qualities, which are to 
be found in brave and gentle natures. The 
excess of Mars is not unfavorable, but it 
may argue violence, even murderous in- 
tent, tyranny, and angry passions of the 
soul. The absence of the God of War can be 
easily summed up in cowardice and un- 
readiness in danger. 

The Plain of Mars is crossed by the line 



142 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



^gle 



of the Head, which implies the stru 
which is continually going on in life, and, 
while united with the Mount of Mars, the 
ability to resist them. 

The Mount of the Moon closes our list. 
When it is present it signifies imagination, 
sentiment, harmony (in music) and a lym- 
phatic temperament, a love of solitude 
and sentimentality, romance. Absent^ of 
course, it means lack of all these qualities. 
In excess causeless worries, despair, rest- 
lessness and curious fancies, brain-sickness, 
madness, etc. The moon is the type of 
changability or caprice. 

THE THREE PARTS. 

Writers on Chiromancy have divided 
the hand into three parts, bounded by 
certain lines. The upper portion is con- 
sidered the divine part, the centre the 
natural and the lowest the material divis- 
ion. The Mount of Venus with that of 
the moon unite to form the Material por- 
tion. The upper part, bounded by the 
line of the Heart, is the divine portion, 
and the Natural portion is in the centre, 
where is the line of the Head and the 
Plain and Mount of Mars. 

We have thus considered the " Mounts " 
briefly. And with regard to these moun- 
tains, we must be cautious in our reading. 
Sometimes one mount may be much more 
evident than the others, and then the 
others are, in a sense, subservient to 
its influences, and aid it in its ambi • 
tion or affection, as the case may be. 
Again, the influence of the mounts must 
be considered along with the lines of 
the hand. Not only the most evident of 
the latter, but even the smaller ones, have 
their significance ; so, although it is com 
paratively easy for a person to read the 
palm of the hand in large type, as it were, 
he cannot make a proper book for general 



circulation unless he. employ the "lower 
case.'' It is very well for a beginner — 
like a child — to have a lesson in " capi- 
tals," but he must learn the small letters 
as well. 

Thus the palm of the hand is a book to 
be read by all who study; but they must 
study diligently and continuously. There 
are as many considerations to be enter- 
tained and weighed as in a weather fore- 
cast. We may and do make broad guesses 
at the weather, and, at times, are correct ; 
but we have to study the signs. So it is 
with Palmistry. 

"At the line of life," says M. Desbar- 
rolles, '' commences the painful portion of 
the science. At this point we taste the 
fruit of knowledge, of good or evil. Here 
we learn to read the hands of those whom 
we love ; the finger of death or the life of 
pain ; the loss of sight, or any other afflic- 
tion which threatens them. We can prog- 
nosticate how many years we have to live ; 
and even if we endeavor to put aside the 
thought by telling ourselves that Chiro- 
mancy is not to be credited, the idea 
haunts us all the same.'' 

LINE OF LIFE. 

The line of life has already been pointed 
out ; it cannot be mistaken, and it exists 
upon every hand in a greater or less de- 
gree. When it surrounds the Mount of 
the thumb, long, well-made, with a good 
color, the life may be expected to be long 
and happy, without any great trouble; 
and such a line means a good character in 
the individual possessing it. 

We may on the contrary, prognosticate 
that when the line is wide and rather pale, 
it, in common with all lines of the same 
character, has an evil tendency, and bad 
health, as well as a low type of disposition 
is present. The student of Chiromancy 



HOW to READ "THE HAND. 



14S 



raster a while will also examine the lines 
crossing the line of life or which pass close 
to it, and from these things can perceive 
that illness or accident is likely to arrive 
at a certain time. How they can estimate 




FIG. lO. 



will 



the periods at which the maladies 
occur may be now explained. 

We have given (Fig. lo) a rough diagram 
of the hand divided into periods of five and 
ten years. The line of lyife is thus 
divided into a certain number of parts, 
each representing a portion of our existence, 
which are marked in the following way. 
This is by no means a modern idea, but it 
has been adopted by late writers as well as 
by the old Chiromants. 

To arrive at a proper period we must 
have an ordinary compass, and having put 
one point upon the root of the forefinger 
and the other upon the centre of the mount 
of Apollo, describe an arc which will cut 
the lyine of life. The point at which the 



arc thus described intersects the line of life, 
gives us ten years, the first ten years, of our 
life counting from the commencement of 
the line below the index finger. For the 
second circle the moving point is placed 
between the third and fourth fingers, the 
next on the mount of Mercury, the fourth 
curve is drawn from the extremity of the 
third joint of the little finger at the point 
where it leaves the percussion, the next 
circle at an equal distance down the side, 
and so the next. 

We have then reached sixty years ; the 
places at which all these circles cut the 
line of life being marked lo, 20, 30, 40, 50, 
and 60 years respectively. When the 
seventh circle has been described, the dis- 




FIG. II. — A FORTUNATE HAND. 



a. Double line of life, b. Perfect happiness, c 
Enjoyment of true love. d. Happy marrage. e. 
Girdle of Venus, f. Talents, g. Art successes 
(renown), h. Perspicacity — fortune and love. 
Good temperament, j. Long life. k. Love for one 
only. 



144 



HOW TO READ THE HAND. 



tance for the eig-hth must be reduced one- 
half on the percussion, and we shall thus 
reach lOO years, the spot where the line of 
life trends beneath the ball of the thumb. 
If the line of Life be duplicated (as in 
Fig. ii), it means a luxurious existence; 
and if it give the appearance of a chain, or 
a linked and broken connection, a sad and 
precarious life may be anticipated or pro- 
nounced upon. When this line is seen 
with roots or branches extending to the 
mount of Jupiter, it indicates an ambitious 
nature, not necessarily of a bad descrip- 
tion, but one which may honestly desire 
wealth and honor, after hard and con- 
tinued labor. In other words, the victory 



over circumstance gained by pride and will 
indicated by Jupiter. 

If the line of Life be short, the- life itself 
will be brief, and if a decided break or 
interruption occur during its course, we 
may expect the occurrence of some serious 
illness. When, for instance, we find a line 
broken, as shown in the diagram, page 105, 
we may at once, and with certainty, con- 
clude that the individual has had an illness 
which laid him at death's door. But if 
the illness has already passed, all fear is 
over, there will be no recurrence of the 
attack — not of such a violent nature at 
any rate ; the serious danger is over. But 
if broken in both hands it means death 




Wonders of hypnotism. 




O not attempt hypnotism un- 
less you have thoroughly 
studied the subject, and are 
so proficient in the art that 
no harm can result to the 
person brought under hyp- 
notic influence. But a great 
deal of merriment in an 
evening company can be created by play- 
ing hypnotism. 

The operator should have a confederate 
who understands what is expected of him, 
and with grave face should go through all 
the motions as if he were really in the 
hypnotic state. In order to do this we 
give you some idea of the actions of a per- 
son who is hypnotized. 

Professor Moll, who is a recognized au- 
thority on this subject, says : In order to 
give the reader an idea of the phenomena 
of hypnotism it will be best, first of all, to 
describe a few experiments. The pheno- 
mena will in this way be made more com- 
prehensible than by means of any number 
of definitions. 

First Experiment I begin the experi- 
ments with a young man of twenty. I 
request him to seat himself on a chair, and 
give him a button to hold, telling him to 
look at it fixedly. After three minutes 
his eyelids fall ; he tries in vain to open 
his eyes, which are fast closed ; his hand, 
which until now has grasped the button, 
drops upon his knee. I assure him that it 
is impossible for him to open his eyes. 
(He makes vain efforts to open them.) 

I now say to him, "Your hands are 
stuck fast to your knee ; you cannot pos- 
sibly raise them.'' (He raises his hands^ 
10 



however.) I continue to converse with 
him ; I find that he is perfectly conscious, 
and I can discover no essential change in 
him whatever. I raise one of his arms ; 
directly I let go, he drops it as he pleases. 
Upon which I blow upon his eyes, which 
open at once, and he is in the same state 
as before the experiment. The young 
man remembers all that I have said to 
him. The only striking thing is, there- 
fore, that he could not open his eyes, and 
that he feels a certain degree of fatigue. 

Second Experiment. This is a woman 
of fifty-three. When she has seated her- 
self on a chair I place myself before her ; 
I raise my hands, and move them down- 
wards, with the palms towards her, from 
the top of the head to about the pit of the 
stomach. I hold my hands so that they 
may not touch her, at a distance of from 
two to four inches. As soon as my 
hands come to the lowest part of the 
stroke I carry them in a wide sweep with 
outspread arms over the subject's head. I 
then repeat exactly the same movements ; 
that is, passes from above downwards, 
close to the body, and continue this for 
about ten minutes. 

At the end of this time the subject is 
sitting with closed eyes, breathing deeply 
and peacefully. When I ask her to raise 
her arms, she raises them only slightly ; 
they then fall down again heavily. When 
I ask her how she feels, she explains that 
she is very tired. I forbid her to open her 
eyes. (She makes useless attempts to open 
them.) Now I lift up her right arm ; it 
remains in the air, even after I have 
let e'^ 

145 



146 



WONDERS OF HYPNOTISM. 



I command her to drop her arm. (She 
drops it.) I lift it again, and again it 
remains in the air ; upon which I request 
her to drop her arm, declaring at the same 
time that she cannot do it. (She now 
makes vain efforts to drop her arm, but it 
remains in the air.) The same thing hap- 
pens with the other arm. When I forbid 
her she is unable to drop it ; she cannot 
pronounce her own name directly I have 
assured her that she is dumb. (She only 
makes movements with her mouth, with- 
out producing any sound.) 

DOES WHAT SHE IS TOLD. 

I tell her that now she can speak. (She 
speaks at once.) I say to her: " You hear 
music." (The woman shakes her head to 
show that she hears no music.) I wake 
her by passes from below, upwards, over 
the surface of her body, turning the back 
of the hand towards her. (She now opens 
her eyes, and can control all her move- 
ments.) 

We see here, then, that not only are the 
eyes closed during hypnosis, but that all 
sorts of different movements become im- 
possible to the subject when I forbid 
them. 

Third Experiment. This is with a boy 
of sixteen, whom I have hypnotized sev- 
eral times. I request him to look me 
straight in the eyes. After he has done 
this for some time I take him by the hand 
and draw him along with me. Then I let 
go, but our eyes remain fixed on each 
other's. 

Then I lift up my right arm. (The boy 
does the same.) I raise my left arm. (He 
does the same.) I make him understand 
by a gesture that he must kneel down. 
(He does so.) He tries to rise, but does not 
succeed so long as I look at him, and fix 
him to the floor by a movement of the 



hand. Finally I cease to look at him ; the 
charm is at once broken. 

We see here, then, a young man whose 
movements take the character of imitation, 
and whose eyes at the same time are wide 
open and fixed upon mine. 

Fourth Experiment, Mr. X., forty -one 
years old, seats himself on a chair. I tell 
him that he must try to sleep. " Think 
of nothing but that you are to go to sleep.' ' 
After some seconds I continue : '' Now 
your eyelids are beginning to close ; your 
eyes are growing more and more fatigued ; 
the lids quiver more and more. You feel 
tired all over ; your arms go to sleep ; 
your legs grow tired ; a feeling of heavi- 
ness and the desire for sleep take posses- 
sion of your whole body. Your eyes close ; 
your head feels duller ; your thoughts 
grow more and more confused. 

CANNOT RESIST. 

Now you can no longer resist ; now 
your eyelids are closed. "Sleep!" After 
the eyelids have closed I ask him if he can 
open them. (He tries to do so, but they 
are too heavy.) I raise his left arm in the 
air. (It remains in the air, and cannot be 
brought down in spite of all his efforts.) 

I ask him if lie is asleep. "Yes." 
"Fast asleep?" " Yes." " Do you hear 
the canary singing?" "Yes.'' "Now 
you hear the concert ?" *^ Certainly." 
Upon this I take a black cloth and put it 
into his hand. " You feel this dog quite 
plainly? " " Quite plainly." " Now you 
can open your eyes. You will see the dog 
clearly. Then you will go to sleep again, 
and not wake till I tell you." (He opens 
his eyes, looks at the imaginary dog and 
strokes it.) I take the cloth out of his 
hand, and lay it on the floor. (He stands 
up and reaches out for it.) Although he 
is in my room, when I tell him that he is 



WONDERS OF HYPNOTISM. 



147 



in tlie Zoological Gardens lie believes it 
and sees trees, and so on. 

In this case X. is thrown into the hyp- 

■■ notic state by my arousing in his mind an 
image of the sleep. This manner of hypno- 

^ tizing is used by the Nancy investigators, 
and may be called the method of Nancy. 
The subject is completely without a will 
of his own. It is not only possible in his 
case to prevent the most various move- 
ments by a mere prohibition, but I can also 
control his sense perceptions. 

HEARS MUSIC. 

On my assurance, he thinks he hears a 
canary, or hears music. He takes a black 

[ cloth for a dog, and believes himself to be 

' in the Zoological Gardens when he is in 
my room. But the following phenome- 
non is still more striking. X. hears all 
that I say to him, and allows himself to be 
influenced by me in every way. Yet two 
other men, A. and B., who are present ap- 
pear not to be observed by the hypotic at 
all. A. lifts up the arm of the subject ; the 

; arm falls loosely down, and when A. de- 
sires the arm to remain in the air the sub- 
ject takes no notice. He obeys my orders 
only, and is en rapport with me only. In 

I order to wake him I now .call to him : 
*'Wake up!" He wakes at once, but 
only remembers going to sleep ; of what 
happened during the sleep he knows noth- 
ing. 

I will merely remark that in all these 
experiments, however different they might 
be, the voluntary movements were always 
inhibited, that in one case hallucinations 
of the senses could be induced, and that it 
was possible for me in all cases to converse 
with the subject, and we could understand 
each other. 

I wished to bring forward these examples 
in order that the reader might understand 



to a certain extent, in spite of the absence 
of living subjects, what different states are 
included in the idea of hypnosis, and how 
it is induced and terminated. The above 
experiments are typical, and every one 
who makes proper experiments can always 
repeat them. 

AID TO MEDICINE. 

Much interest has been taken during the 
past few years in the results of psychologi- 
cal research, and from this has sprung a 
special concern in hypnotism. Hypnotic 
suggestion has proved valuable in the treat- 
ment of functional disorders of digestion, 
absorption and circulation, of nervous con- 
dition, and it has assumed importance as 
an appropriate instrumentality for affect- 
ing character change in cases of moral 
obliquity as well as for developing and ex- 
alting mind power. Plainly speaking hyp- 
nosis implies a mind condition in which 
the mental action of a sensitive subject is 
under the control of an operator who has 
induced the state. It is characterized by 
insensibility to outward sounds and images, 
and to ordinary impressions of sense organs, 
but by quickened perception of sensations 
pictured by the hypnotist. 

Human beings are hypnotizable by other 
human beings between whom and them- 
selves exists a peculiar sympathy or har- 
monious relationship known as rapport. 
Various methods of inducing hypnotism are 
practiced, all having in view the fixation of 
the attention upon some monotonous stim- 
ulus of the eye or ear, as sedative music or 
a bright object like the nickel-plated point- 
protector of a lead pencil, a transparent 
crystal, or a stud in a shirt bosom, or the 
eyes of the operator. Perfumes also have 
hypnotic power ; the odor of May blossoms, 
of new mown hay, of balm-of-Gilead firs, 
contribute to the induction of mental 



148 



WONDERS OF HYPNOTISM. 



placid ness. Certain colors are also helpful, 
especially pinks of a low chroma. 

USE OF THE HANDS. 

In certain instances such a procedure as 
told above may be supplemented by light 
passes, or by holding firmly the hand of the 
patient, by pressing- it against the forehead 
of the operator, or by contact of foreheads, 
while the whole force of one's personality 
is concentrated in an effort to overcome an 
automatic resistance to hypnotization. 

Some operators request the patient to 
take a reclining position on a lounge. 
Then, by talking soothingly to them for 
some time, the operator acquaints himself 
with the dominant propensities of control- 
ling thoughts and above all securing the 
patient's confidence. Then the patient's 
attention is concentrated upon a suspended 
diamond, or some other unique article. The 
eyes soon become tired from the strain, and 
the patient is told he is gazing at a sleepy 
stone which has never failed to induce 
slumber. 

GAINING CONTROL. 

Then he is told to think of nothing, to 
renounce the very intention of renouncing 
mental effort, and to give himself up with 
a perfect confidence in the purity of the 
motives of the operator. Under these con- 
ditions the eyeballs soon become fixed, a 
vacant stare replaces the usual intelligent 
look, and the eyelids begin to open and 
close spasmodically. At this stage the 
suggestion is given that a prolonged re- 
freshing sleep is about to ensue ; and in a 
few moments a long breath is taken and 
the lids close with a slow regular move- 
ment. Deep respirations follow, and then 
the operator knows he has secured the 
deeper personality of his subject. 

When a person is under the influence of 



a hypnotist he may be regarded as in a 
condition in which the part of the nervous 
system associated with conscious percep- 
tion is thrown out of gear, without prevent- 
ing the kind of movements which would 
result were the apparatus really in action. 
Impressions are made on the sensory or- 
gans : the sensory nerves convey the impres- 
sion to a part of the brain. In the deepest 
condition of hypnotism these impressions 
may not arouse any consciousness, but the 
result may be the kind of movement 
which would naturally follow supposing 
the person had been conscious. 

POWER OF SUGGESTION. 

The movements of a hypnotic are 
usually of an imitative kind. The mere 
suggestion of a movement has not always 
proved successful. It must be made be- 
fore the eyes of the person who is expected 
to perform the movement. The patient 
is in a sense an automaton played upon 
by the operator through the medium of 
the patient's sensory organs. In deep 
hypnotism the patient has no idea corre- 
sponding to the movements he makes to 
the example of the operator. 

In some cases where the patient is but 
slightly hypnotized there is a curious 
combination of feelings. He knows he is 
being made a fool of, but does many ridi- 
culous things at the bidding of the operator. 
In some respects he is like a somnambulist 
who acts the movements of a disturbed 
dream. After coming back to his original 
self he remembers all that happened while 
he was in that state. In some cases, how- 
ever, the hypnotism is so deep as to 
resemble coma, and in these there is no 
trace of sensory impressions or of move- 
ments. 

The experiments that have been made 
with persons who could be hypnotized 



WONDERS OF HYPNOTISM. 



149 



have been very curious. The hypnotist 
would tell them to bark like a dog. They 
would do this. They would be ordered to 
craw*l on their hands and feet as if they 
were a horse. They would obey. When 
told to crow like a rooster they made fairly 
successful attempts to do so. One subject 
was told to go and touch a stove. The 
stove was cold at the time, but the 
hypnotist told the subject it was hot. The 
instant the stove was touched the subject 
cried out with pain, having experienced 
the sensation of heat. 

Paul King, a quite noted hypnotist at 
one time, having gained control of a lady's 
mind, told her that he was thinking of 
something that she very much cherished, 
and for her to go and get it wherever it 
was. She was at that time in King's 
studio with a party of friends. She im- 
mediately left it in his company and the 
company of her friends and, still under his 
influence, went to her home and took 



from its place on the mantel a portrait of 
her husband and gave it to King. 

Experiments like this suggests how far 
it might be possible for a corrupt person 
having great hypnotic power to gain con- 
trol of human minds and influence them 
for bad. The law has not yet taken 
cognizance of this phase of hypnotism. 

Recent ' experiments made in New York 
have led scientists to advance a theory 
that it would be possible for a hypnotist to 
cause a subject to die by simply instruct- 
ing the latter to cease breathing. This 
would be murder in the eyes of the law. 
If this can be done, the suggestion has 
been made that hypnotism take the place 
of the eloctrocution chair. 

Woman, as a rule, hypnotize more 
easily than men. It is not possible to 
hypnotize any one without their first men- 
tally consenting or yeilding to the in- 
fluence of the hypnotist. Then it can gen- 
erally be done quite easily. 




Chemical Surprises 
and pastimes. 




IR HUMPHREY 
DAVY, it is said, 
for a few shillings 
taught himself 
c h e m i s t r y . The 
intention of the 
next few pages is to 
give such experi- 
ments, that our young friends need not 
fear they will be beyond their means. Un- 
like the manufacture of fireworks, it is not 
necessary to purchase more than a small 
quantity of chemicals, as an experiment 
may be tried generally with a small as 
with a large quantity, if the chemicals are 
pure ; while the apparatus need consist of 
only a few slips of common window glass. 
Chemical mixtures of all kinds may be 
made on a slip by adding two or three 
drops of the liquids together. 

We now proceed to describe the princi- 
pal facts that our " Chemical Surprises " 
are intended to illustrate. These are, the 
effects that result from the different de- 
grees of affinity which different substances 
have for each other, and the changes pro- 
'duced by combination. 

Chemical Affinity is attraction of a pecu- 
liar kind. The attraction of gravitation 
exerts its influence on all bodies ; but chem- 
ical attraction, or affinity, exists only be- 
tween particular substances. It is described 
as "that tendency to unite, which many 
bodies, possessing different nualities, exert 
towards each other.*' 
150 



For instance, ammonia (an alkali) has a 
strong aflSnity, or is strongly attracted to 
unite with oil ; but it has a stronger affin- 
ity for any of the acids, or, in other words, 
they attract it more powerfully than the 
oil. It will happen, consequently, that if 
oil and ammonia are brought into close 
contact with each other by being mixed 
together, that they will cheiJiically combine^ 
and form a compound body, which, in 
fact, is a kind of soap ; but as the am- 
monia has a stronger affinity for an acid 
than for the oil, it will happen, that if we 
mix a little sulphuric acid with the soapy 
mixture, that the ammonia will be 2X' 
trsLcted fro jji the oil, and chemically com- 
bine with the acid. 

In this case, we have an illustration of 
what is meant by the term affinity, and the 
manner in which it operates. It is, in- 
deed, merely a word used to express the 
degree of attraction, or, as it has been 
called, the "liking," which one substance 
has for another, and by virtue of which, 
when allowed to mix together, they will 
combine chemically. 

According to the intensity of the attrac- 
tion or affinity, so will be the force with 
which the bodies will combine, and with 
which they will draw the substance they 
are most strongly attracted to from any 
other substance with which it may be in 
combination. 

Chonical attraction differs from general 
attraction, or gravity, in a most important 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



151 



particular. It is an effect which takes 
place only between the particles of which 
all bodies are composed ; it does not act upon 
masses, and, consequently, before its influ- 
ence can be excited, the particles must be 
brought into close contact with each other. 
Some bodies do not show the affinity 
they have for each other, unless they are 
even mixed as liquids, or have some liquid 
added to them. If we mix what forms a very 
pleasant kind of drink in the summer time, 
bicarbonate of soda and Tartaric acid, to- 
gether, in the dry state, they will remain as 
a mechanical mixture only, the same as if 
we were to mix a quantity of bran and flour 
together ; but if we add a little water, a vio- 
lent effervescence takes place ; the parti- 
cles have then been brought close enough 
for their affinities to come into action, and 
a chemical compound is the result. 

Experiment with Quicksilver. 

The same principle may be illustrated 
by a simple experiment with quicksilver, 
though the attraction, in this case, is dif- 
ferent to chemical affinity. If we place 
two globules on the table, a little distance 
apart, they will not attract each other with 
sufficient force to be drawn together ; but 
if they are gradually pushed closer to each 
other, when they have passed a certain 
limit, they suddenly fly together and form 
one globule. 

It is necessary, therefore, in order to 
produce a combination, that the two should 
be brought close to each other ; the attrac- 
tion will not show itself at a distance ; and 
this is the case with chemical attraction. 
It may be regarded, therefore, as a law of 
chemical combination, that as affinity is a 
power exerted only by particles of matter 
upon each other, they must be brought into 
immediate contact before any effect can be pro- 
duced^ 



Another rule to be remembered, is that 
the affinity of a body for different substances 
varies in intensity. If the affinity of am- 
monia for oil be represented by the figure 
5, its affinity for the acids will be equal to 
lo ; and consequently, its tendency to 
combine with them will be twice that with 
which it is urged to unite with the oil. 
Therefore, a substance for which a body 
has the strongest affinity will combine 
with it in preference to combining with 
any other. 

Potassium and Oxygen. 

Many examples might be given of this 
fact. Potassium, for instance, has so 
powerful an affinity for the element called 
oxygen that it will separate it from any 
other element with which it may be united, 
and. will burst into flame when thrown 
upon waten 

In most works on chemistry, tables of 
the degrees of affinity of a body for differ- 
ent substances are given, showing what 
compounds it will decompose, by abstract- 
ing the substance to which it is particu- 
larly attracted. It may be stated as a gen- 
eral rule, that a body which has the strong- 
est affinity for another substance will sep- 
arate it from any combination it may have 
formed ; this, however, will not hold true 
in all cases. 

It is an important fact to notice, that 
when two substances combine^ the coinpound 
they form is always different in its nature to 
themselves. Two bodies, decidedly poison- 
ous, when combined chemically may pro- 
duce a compound, not merely uninjurious, 
but even necessary to our existence ! This 
fact is strikingly illustrated in the combi- 
nations of the two elements called oxygen 
and nitrogen. For example : 

The Atmosphere is composed of Nitrogeii 
4, Oxygen I, 



152 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



Nitrous Oxide (laughing gas) Nitrogen 2, 
Oxygen i. 

TV/Vn^Ty^r/V/ (aquafortis) Nitrogen 2. Oxy- 
gen I. 

Thus it will be seen, that the same ele- 
ments which, when mixed together in the 
proportions first mentioned, produce the air 
we breathe, form one of the most active 
and destructive poisons when combined in 
the quantities necessary to produce nitric 
acid ; for this acid and the air, it will be 
seen, are both formed from the same ele- 
ments, only the proportions in which they 
are combined are diflferent. In the com- 
binations of the element call carbon, or 
charcoal, we have another striking exam- 
ple of the dififerent forms one substance 
can assume. 

Who would believe that a brilliant dia- 
mond and a piece of common charcoal are 
the same material, only in different forms? 
Yet such is the case , and the chemist has 
the power, by exposing the diamond to a 
great heat in oxygen gas, of reducing it to 
the state of charcoal. This circumstance 
may appear very extraordinary, but it is 
not more wonderful than that a piece of 
lump sugar may be converted into carbon. 

Two Harmless Poisons. 

A familiar example of the fact that two 
bodies actively poisonous in their natural 
state, may produce a substance, when com- 
bined, that shall be perfectly innoxious, is 
seen in our common table salt. This is 
composed of muriatic acid and soda. The 
muriatic acid, taken internally, causes 
much agony and ultimate death ; and the 
caustic alkali (the soda) would produce ef- 
fects very similar ; yet when combined to- 
gether, they produce a substance ranking 
amongst the first necessaries of life ; for 
without common salt, it would be almost 
impossible to maintain health. 



As an example of poisons being pro- 
duced from the combination of substances, 
which, in their natural state, are not in- 
jurious, we may instance the poisons which 
are formed by animals and vegetables. The 
dreaded worali — the poison used by the 
Indians — and the pestiferous and destruc- 
tive upas, which is produced from the tree 
of that name, and to the influence of either 
of which animals cannot be exposed with- 
out the loss of life, are formed from the 
same elements as those which produce the 
luxurious fruits, and the wonderful variety 
of beautiful flowers that exist in the coun- 
tries where these poisons are found. 

Wonderful Combinations. 

In like manner, the elementary sub- 
stances that form the flesh of the deer and 
oxen, upon which man finds subsistence, 
are the same as those from which the 
deadly poison of the rattlesnake is pro- 
duced, or the no less dreaded virus of ca- 
nine animals in a state of hydrophobia. 
Thus it will be seen how nature, out of a 
few simple elements, is able to produce 
such a wonderful variety of substances, 
whether the result of organization, or pro- 
duced from the mineral kingdom. 

Change of color is another circumstance 
that frequently attends chemical combina- 
tion. The most beautiful colors may be 
formed, and destroyed again, by means of 
a drop or two of some liquids when added 
to others ; and few of the experiments will 
probably be more interesting than those 
which are given to illustrate this phenom- 
enon. 

Change of bulk is another event of fre- 
quent occurrence when bodies combine. 
Two liquids on being mixed together may 
become solid ; and two solids under simi- 
lar circumstances may form a liquid. 
These facts haye been called "chemical 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



153 



miracles^ but, indeed, there is nothing 
more wonderful in the circumstance than 
in the other beautiful illustrations of chem- 
ical affinity that we have given. All the 
curious instances of likings and dislikings 
which substances appear to exhibit to- 
wards each other, are equally entertaining ; 
it is only in consequence of some effects 
not being produced so often as others that 
we deem them more wonderful. 

Beautiful Crystals. 

Crystallization is another beautiful ef- 
fect which frequently attends chemical 
action. Everybody is familiar with the 
appearance of crystals, and the different 
forms they exhibit, thus we have crystals 
of sugar, in the form of sugar candy, and 
crystals of Epsom salts, which are as well 
known for their different appearance as 
for their disagreeable qualities. \ 

Both these kind of crystals are as differ- 
ent in form as they are in taste ; and many 
others may be easily called to recollection. 
Yet all these particular forms are occa- 
sioned by one simple law of nature, which 
is another kind of affinity, and causes the 
particles of various liquids, in cooling, to 
adhere together, and assume a crystalline 
shapCo 

Another remarkable fact relating to 
chemical affinity is, that the quantity of any 
substance required to form a particular com- 
pound is always the same ; and so long as a 
body retains its general characteristics, it 
will always consist of the same elements, 
united together in the same proportions. 
For instance, sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol) 
is always composed of i6 parts, by weight, 
of sulphur, and 24 of oxygen. No other 
substances can form sulphuric acid, nor 
can its own elements produce it, if com- 
bined in any other proportions than those 
just stated, 



Water, in like manner, is formed of one 
part, by weight, of hydrogen, and eight of 
oxygen ; and wer^ these elements to unite 
in any other proportions, some new sub- 
stance, different from water, would be pro- 
duced. When two or more elements unite 
to form a compound, the addition or dimi- 
nution of a small quantity of one, often 
produces an effect remarkably different to 
what would have resulted had the propor- 
tions been different. 

Very Similar. 

For instance, there is great dissimilarity, 
both in taste and appearance, between 
starch and sugar ; and yet they are com- 
posed of the same elements, and very 
nearly in the same proportions, as will be 
seen by the following analysis : 

Oxygen. Hydrogen Carbon. 
Sugar is composed of 40 5 36 

Starch 48 13 42 

In describing the different chemical 
preparations that are to be used in the ex- 
periments we have employed the terms by 
which they are known to chemists, and 
added, in a parenthesis, the popular names ; 
thus, " Sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol)." All 
the chemicals may be obtained at an oper- 
ative chemists, by asking for them in the 
former names ; and we again advise those 
who perform the experiments, only to pur- 
chase a small quantity, as a few penny- 
worth of most of the substances will be 
quite sufficient. 

Chemical solution is very different from 
mere mixture. Solution is a chemical 
combination between a fluid and any sub- 
stance that may be dissolved in it ; where- 
as mixture is simply a division of the par- 
ticles of a body by a mechanical power. 
Portions of the substance float about in the 
liquid it is mixed with, but they do not 



154 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



combine with it ; and these portions will, 
if the mixture remains at rest, fall to the 
bottom, or rise to the surface, according to 
their relative specific gravity as compared 
with that of the fluid. This may be shown 
by the following experiments : 

Put into a glass vessel, containing water, 
a few grains of sugar of lead, and stir them 
together with a glass rod ; the water will 
soon become turbid, in consequence of the 
sugar of lead being insoluble in that fluid, 
and simply a mixttire of the particles with 
the water will take place. If the water be 
minutely examined, these particles may 
be seen floating in it ; and they will ulti- 
mately, if left to themselves, fall to the 
bottom. 

If to this milky fluid be now added a few 
drops of nitric acid it will instantly be- 
come clear and transparent ; and now not 
the most minute portion of the lead will 
be perceived in it. In the first instance, 
there was only mixture ; in the latter, a 
perfect solution^ because the combination of 
lead and nitric acid is soluble in water, 
while the sugar of lead is not. 

If chalk and water be mixed together, 
the fluid will be turbid ; but if a few drops 
of muriatic acid be added, it will become 
quite transparent. 

APPARENT ANOMALY IN CHEMI- 
CAL AFFINITY. 
It is a general law in chemistry that one 
body having a strong affinity for another 
will combine with it in preference to unit- 
ing with any substance of weaker affinity. 
In the following instances just the reverse 
takes place; substances having a weak 
affinity combine together, in preference to 
uniting with those for which their affinity 
is stronger. In the following table, the 
body first mentioned decomposes a com- 
pound of the second and third, named in 



the same line, although its attraction for 
the second is inferior to that of the third. 

Potash separates sulphuric acid from barytes. 
Lime separates sulphuric acid from potash. 
Nitric acid separates lime from oxalic acid. 
Potash separates phosphoric acid from lime 
Potash separates carbonic acid from lime. 
Soda separates sulphuric acid from potash. 

It is necessary, in order that the experi- 
ments should fully succeed, that a much 
larger quantity of the first-mentioned sub- 
stance should be used than the second or 
third; and the student must not be sur- 
prised if the expriment should not be suc- 
cessful. 

TO MAKE SOAP— EXAMPLE OP 
AFFINITY. 

Pour a little oil into a phial and add 
some water to it, when it will be found, in 
consequence of the oil having no affinity 
for the water, that they will not combine 
together, however much they may be 
shaken ; for directly the bottle is still, the 
oil will rise to the surface. 

If a small quantity of liquid ammonia 
(hartshorn) be now introduced gradually 
into the bottle, and the contents shaken 
together, they will chemically combine ; 
fdr the oil and the ammonia have a strong 
affinity for each other, and when mixed 
they produce a soapy liquid. This is 
soluble in water, and therefore, when the 
bottle is shaken, the three liquids unite 
together. This is a ver>' simple, but a very 
striking experiment, as it clearly illustrates 
the manner in which chemical affinity 
operates, and affords a. curious insta^ice of 
the "likings and dislikings" of diff'erent 
bodies. 

TO DECOMPOSE SOAP. 

The oil and the ammonia in the last ex- 
periment combine, because there is a strong 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



155 



affinity between them ; but if another sub- 
stance be introduced into the bottle which 
has a stronger affinity for one of them than 
they have for each other, the compound 
will be decomposed. This may be effected 
by adding, ve^y carefully^ a small quantity 
of sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol) to the mix- 
ture. The acid has a stronger affinity for 
the ammonia than the ammonia has for 
the oil, and it will, therefore, leave the oil 
and combine with the acid. The oil will 
then swim on the top. 

DIVISIBILITY OF SULPHATE OF 
IRON. 

Dissolve two grains of sulphate of iron 
in a quart of water, and add a few drops of 
this solution to a wine-glassful of water, 
into which a few drops of tincture of galls 
have been placed. The dilute infusion of 
galls will immediately assume a purplish 
hue. This shows that every drop of the 
quart of water in which the sulphate of 
iron was dissolved contains a portion of 
the salt. 

REPULSION— STEEL AND WATER. 

If the blade of a well-polished knife be 
dipped into a basin of cold water, the par- 
ticles of each of these two bodies do not 
seem to come in contact with each other ; 
for when the blade is taken out, the water 
slides off, leaving the blade quite dry, as if 
it had previously been smeared with any 
greasy substance. 

In the same way, if a common sewing 
needle be laid horizontally on a glass of 
water, it will not sink, but form a kind of 
trench on the surface on y/hich it lies, and 
float about. This proceeds from the little 
attraction which exists between the cold 
water and the polished steel. It is neces- 
sary that both the knife, in the last experi- 
ment, and also the needle, should be dry 
and clean, 



REPULSION-MERCURY AND 
GLASS. 

If a quantity of quicksilver (mercury) be 
poured into a wine-glass, its upper surface 
will be co7tvex ; that is, a kind of trench 
will be formed all round the mercury, 
between it and the sides of the glass. This 
is in consequence of there being no attrac- 
tion between the glass and the mercury. 

An opposite effect may be produced by 
pouring a small quantity into a metal cup. 
In this case, the mercury will appear con- 
cave ; for the attraction of the sides of the 
vessel for the metal is sufficient to cause it 
to rise above its level at the edges. 

ATTRACTION BETWEEN MERCURY 
AND GOLD. 

If a gold piece be rubbed with mercury, 
it will lose its usual appearance, and be- 
come as if silvered over ; the attraction of 
the gold for the mercury being sufficient 
to cause a coating of it to remain. 

When it is wished to remove" the silvery 
appearance, dip the gold piece in a dilute 
solution of nitric acid, which will entirely 
take it off. Some rather laughable circum- 
stances have occurred, where persons, hav- 
ing a little quicksilver get loose in their 
pockets, have been surprised to find their 
gold pieces apparently changed to quarters. 

The six preceding experiments, although 
not strictly chemical, are introduced here 
for the purpose of illustrating attraction 
and repulsion. 

TO TRANSFORM LOAF SUGAR 
INTO CHARCOAL. 

It has been previously mentioned, that 
the diamond has been proved to be olily 
crystallized carbon ; it is not generally 
known that sugar is composed almost en- 
tirely of the same substance. Sugar is a 
vegetable production, and consists princi- 
pally of charcoal in a peculiar state of 



156 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



combination with water. This may be 
proved by pouring a little sulphuric acid 
(oil of vitriol) over a piece of lump sugar, 
in a saucer or other vessel. The acid will 
combine with the water of the sugar, which 
will, in a few minutes, turn black, and ap- 
pear precisely like a lump of charcoal. The 
affinity of sulphuric acid for water is so 
great that it attracts it from its chemical 
imion with the sugar. 

CHARCOAL FORMED WITHOUT 
FIRE. 

If a few small cuttings of wood be placed 
in a glass, and a little sulphuric acid poured 
over them, they will become black, like 
charcoal, from a similar cause to that which 
produced the effect described in the last 
experiment. 1^ 

LIME FORMED BY BREATHING. 
Pour a little lime water into a tumbler, 
and breathe into it through a pipe. Flakes 
of lime will be immediately formed, and 
the water will become turbid, in conse- 
quence of the breath forced out of the 
lungs, which contains a great portion of 
carbonic acid, combining with the lime 
held in solution in the water. 

SINGULAR EFFECTS OF LAUGHING 
GAS. 

Protoxide of nitrogen, nitrous oxide, or, 
as it is more generally termed, laughing 
gas, is a compound that the young chemist 
generally desires to procure as soon as ]3os- 
sible ; and we are induced therefore to give 
the following description of its properties, 
and of the method to be adopted for obtain- 
ing it in a .state of purity, although he 
must not expect to do .so without consider- 
able trouble and some disappointment. 

Nitrous oxide is a compound of the same 
elements as those which constitute the 
atmosphere; but, in consequence of con- 



taining a greater quantity of oxygen, its 
effects upon the human frame, when 
breathed for a short period, are very sur- 
prising. It is not a gas that can be breathed 
with impunity for any great length of time, 
yet it can be received into the lungs for a 
short period without injury. It is termed 
laughing gas because its general effect 
upon persons who respire it is to induce a 
very strong desire to give way to violent 
fits of laughter. 

It does not, however, produce this effect 
on every individual. Some are made ex- 
ceedingly melancholy, and others appear 
desirous of annihilating everything on 
which they can lay their hands. In gen- 
eral, however, the gas only excites the 
person who breathes it to laughter. It acts 
as a powerful stimulant for a time, but, 
unlike other stimulants, it is not followed 
by lassitude, or lowness of spirits, unless, 
while under its influence, the person is 
excited to excessive muscular exertion. 

Sir Humphrey Davy made a variety of 
experiments with this gas. He adminis- 
tered it to various persons, and, indeed, 
was the first to investigate its properties 
with any degree of accuracy. Previous to 
this time, the gas was considered to be un- 
fit for the purpose of respiration, but Davy 
found that it could be breathed with 
safety ; and in his further experiments on 
it discovered the singular effect it produces. 
After a few inspirations of it have been 
made, it causes a sense of lightness and 
expansion in the chest, and a pleasurable 
sensation begins to extend over the whole 
body. 

This increases, and is accompanied with 
a desire to inhale the gas ; respiration be- 
comes, therefore, fuller, and is performed 
with more energy. Exhilaration is soon 
])roduced ; and if the respiration is con- 
tinued sufficiently long, a crowd of indis- 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



157 



tinct ideas, often in very singular combi- 
nations, pass through the mind ; there is 
an irresistible propensity to laughter and 
to muscular exertion, and violent efforts 
are made with alacrity and ease. These 
effects, after the inspiration has ceased, 
continue for four or five minutes, or some- 
times longer ; they gradually subside, and 
what is not the least singular, the state of 
the system returns almost immediately to 
its usual standard. 

How TO Inhale: It. 

We have frequently administered the 
gas to others, and have breathed it to our- 
selves ; and when this is done in a proper 
manner, we have never failed to observe or 
feel the effects above described. There is, 
however, some difficulty in administering 
the gas properly to a person who has never 
taken it before. It must be enclosed in a 
bladder, fitted with a stopcock; and un- 
less the person inhales it from the bladder 
without allowing any of the atmosphere to 
enter his lungs at the same time, the ex- 
periment will not succeed. 

The best way is, to close the nostrils 
with the left hand, and then, forcing all 
the air possible from the lungs by a strong 
respiration, to place the stopcock in your 
mouth, and so breathe in and out of the 
bladder, at the same time keeping the nos- 
trils quite closed. If this be done properly, i 
the gas is sure to produce its usual effects. 

When it is administered to a person, un- 
less he has taken it previously, and is 
aware of the manner in which it affects 
him, it is desirable to have some one near 
to prevent his doing any mischief, in case 
he should feel so inclined. Self-command 
is in general entirely lost for a few min- 
utes, although the individual is perfectly 
sensible all the time in what a ridiculous 
manner he is behaving. A bladder capa- 



ble of holding a few quarts of gas will be 
large enough, and it is advisable to test 
the gas by holding a light in some of it 
before it is taken. 

How TO Make Laughing Gas. 

There are various methods of procuring 
this gas, but we think our readers will 
find it best to obtain it from nitrate of am- 
monia. This should be placed in a glass 
retort, and exposed to the flame of a spirit 
lamp. It will soon melt, and shortly 
afterwards the gas will be evolved. It 
should be collected in a receiver, placed in 
a pneumatic trough, as shown in the en- 
graving, and allowed to stand a short time 
over water, in order to remove any impuri- 
ties with which it may be contaminated. 

The nitrate of ammonia, when melted, 
should only be kept simmering ; for if the 
heat be increased too much, it will cause 
a slight explosion, and nitric oxide and 
nitrogen gas will be produced. If it be 
wished to make a considerable quantity of 
the gas, it will be advisable, on the ground 
of cheapness, for the operator to prepare 
the nitrate of ammonia himself. This 
may be done by pouring diluted nitric acid 
on carbonate of ammonia, and evaporating 
the solution till the greater portion of the 
water is gone. 

TO PRODUCE A SOLID FROM TWO 
LIQUIDS. 

This surprising effect may be produced 
by mixing sulphate of magnesia (Epsom 
salts) with water, until it will dissolve no 
more, and then pouring into it a saturated 
solution of caustic potass. In this case, 
the sulphate of magnesia is decomposed ; 
the sulphuric acid leaves the magnesia, 
which then combines with the water, and 
is precipitated in the form of a white pow- 
der, while the acid unites with the potass. 

Ifa saturated solution of chloride of cal- 



158 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



ciuui be mixed with a saturated solution 
of carbonate of potash, both of which are 
transparent liquids, the result will be the 
formation of an opaque and almost solid 
mass. Mutual decomposition of the salts 
takes place ; chloride of potassium and 
carbonate of lime are formed; the latter 
absorbs the whole water of solution, and 
thus a degree of solidity is produced. 

If a little nitric acid be added to the 
mass, it will be converted into a transpar- 
ent liquid ; the insoluble carbonate of lime 
being converted into the soluble nitrate of 
lime. 

If a small quantity of sulphuric acid be 
dropped into a saturated solution of chlor- 
ide of calcium, an opaque and nearly solid 
mass will be produced ; as the chloride is 
decomposed, and sulphate of lime, a very 
insoluble salt, formed. 

Dissolve a small quantity of acetate of 
lead (sugar of lead) in water, about half 
filling a beer tumbler ; mix in another glass 
the like quantity of bichromate of potass. 
If the contents of one glass be then poured 
into the others, a solid compound will be 
formed, which falls into the bottom of the 
glass. 

]\Iake a strong solution of sulphate of 
magnesia (Epsom salts), by melting as 
much as possible in warm water. If a 
small quantity be poured into a glass, and 
a little ammonia (hartshorn) added to it, 
the ammonia will combine with the sul- 
phuric acid, and liberate the magnesia, 
which will then appear in the glass in a 
nearly solid state. As both the solution of 
salts and the ammonia are transparent till 
mixed, this is a very striking experiment. 

HOW TO MAKE TWO SOLIDS 
FORM A LIQUID. 

Triturate together, in a wedgewood- 
ware mortar, half an ounce of sulphate of 



soda, with the same quantity of acetate of 
lead, and they will combine together and 
form a liquid in consequence of their giv- 
ing out their waters of crystallization. 

Mix together nearly equal quantities of 
carbonate of ammonia and sulphate of 
copper in a mortar ; pulverize them well, 
and they will form a violet-colored liquid. 

Triturate together, in a mortar, half an 
ounce of citric acid, in crystals, with a 
similar quantity of carbonate of potass. 
These substances will combine, and be- 
come fluid. 

Put an ounce of sulphate of soda with 
the same quantity of nitrate of ammonia, 
into a mortar, -and rub them smartly to- 
gether with the pestle, when they will both 
part with their water of crystallization, 
combine together, and become liquid. 

Triturate half an ounce of muriate of 
lime with half an ounce of nitrate of soda ; 
these two substances will operate upon 
each other, and become liquid like the 
others. 

TO MAKE TEST PAPERS. 

For the purpose of many of the experi- 
ments described, it is necessary to be pro- 
vided with test papers, for ascertaining 
when an acid or alkali is present in any 
solution. The following directions will 
enable the experimentor to prepare them 
himself : Boil a few leaves of red cabbage, 
cut into small pieces, in a small quantity 
of water, or pour boiling water over them ; 
then strain it into a piece of cloth, and dip 
into it some slips of blotting, or other thin 
paper, which must then be allowed to dry, 
and afterwards dipped again two or three 
times. These papers are turned of a red 
color when touched by acids, Txwdi green by 
alkalies. The liquid itself may be used in 
many experiments, but it must not be 
kept too long after it is made. 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



159 



Litmus paper ^ which is turned red when 
dipped into an acid, may be prepared by 
boiling litmus in water, and afterwards 
placing the papers in it, as just described. 

Turmeric paper is a test for alkalies, 
being changed from a bright yellow to a 
reddish brown. They may be prepared by 
pouring a small quantity of boiling water 
upon some turmeric, and afterwards dip- 
ping the papers in it, and drying them. 
The test papers should be cut into slips, as 
they will be more handy for use. 

TO CHANGE THE COLOR OP 
FLOWERS. 

Get some violets, and place them in a 
glass jar inverted in a dish of water. 
Place a metallic vessel, or a common piece 
of tile, in the jar, and on it put a little sul- 
phur, which is to be ignited. If the violets 
are exposed to the gds which is thus 
formed for a short time, their color will be 
destroyed, and they will be blanched. The 
same eflfect may be produced on a variety 
of other flowers. 

Hold some of the violets, after the last 
experiment, in the vapor (muriatic gas) 
which arises on pouring a little dilute sul- 
phuric acid on common salt ; they will 
then assume a red color. 

Pour a little ammonia (hartshorn) in a 
bottle, and drop into it another portion of 
the flowers blanched by the first experi- 
ment ; they will then be a bright green. 

Put a number of flowers, of any color, 
and a few blades of grass, or some green 
leaves, into a bottle containing some chlo- 
rine gas, and their color will be imme- 
diately destroyed. This is very prettily 
illustrated by placing in the bottle a sprig 
or two of parsley, which, by the action of 
the chlorine, is rendered quite white. 

Chloride of lime, dissolved in water, with 

a little of any of the acids added to it, may 

: be employed for this purpose instead of 



chlorine gas ; or even the dry chloride of 
lime may be used for the same purpose. 

PURPLE, GREEN AND SCARLET 
PRODUCED FROM A BLUE COLOR. 

Place a small quantity of the blue tinc- 
ture of cabbage in three wine-glasses ; to 
the first add a little solution of alum, 
and the color will be changed to purple. 

To the second glass add a little solution 
of ammonia, which will render the liquid 
bright green. 

In the third, place a few drops of muri- 
atic acid, and this will turn the liquid to a 
beautiful scarlet. 

These experiments show the efiect of a 
salt, an alkali, and an acid, in changing 
vegetable colors. 

TO SHOW THE EFFECT OF ALKA- 
LIES AND ACIDS ON COLORS. 

If a slip of turmeric paper, which is of a 
yellow color, be dipped in ammonia, or any 
alkaline solution, it will become of a deep 
red brown. If it be dipped in an acid, it 
will turn quite red. 

A solution of chlorine in water, or a 
solution of chloride of lime, deprives all 
vegetables, and vegetable infusions, of their 
colors. 

If a slip of turmeric paper be held over a 
bottle of liquid ammonia (hartshorn), its 
color will be changed from yellow to brown 
by the vapor which rises. 

An addition of a little of any of the acids 
to the above mixtures will turn them to a 
beautiful red color. 

TO TEST THE PURITY OF WATER. 

Water, in a state of purity, can only be 
obtained by distillation, or as it falls in the 
form of rain. From its being able to hold, 
in solution, so great a variety of substances, 
it is almost always contaminated with 
some of them. Spring water becomes im- 



160 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



pregnated with the various earthy matters j 
through which it runs ; and river water is : 
still more impure, in consequence of the 
many foreign substances that find their 
way into it. 

For chemical purposes, where it is essen- 
tial that the water should be quite pure, it 
is necessary, therefore, to distil it, by which 
means the impurities are separated from it. 
In order to ascertain the general properties 
of any kind of water, it may be tested in 
the following manner : — 

Pour a small quantity of it into a wine- 
glass, and dip into it a slip of litmus paper, 
when, if an acid is contained in the liquid, 
in any quantity, the paper will become 
red : if the water contains an alkali, the 
test-paper will become green. ' 

The presence of earthy matter may be 
ascertained by mixing a little soap with 
the water ; if much earthy matter is in it, 
the soap will be curded. This is the reason 
why it is impossible to form soap-suds 
with spring water. 

TO FORM BEAUTIFUL CRYSTALS. 

Moisten the interior of a glass tumbler 
with muriatic acid by means of a long 
feather; and also moisten the inside of 
another tumbler, in the same way, with 
liquid ammonia. If the mouths of the 
glasses be now brought together, the 
vapors arising from the muriatic acid and 
the ammonia will combine, and produce 
white fumes, which will deposit themselves 
in the form of crystals in the interior of 
the glasses. This experiment is not always 
successful. 

If subcarbonate of potash be added to a 
solution of nitric acid in water, till effer- 
vescence ceases, or the solution is saturated, 
and a portion of it be afterwards evaporated 
in a watch-glass, or a saucer, very beauti- 
ful crystals will immediately form. 



Melt a little sulphur in an iron table- 
spoon, and pour it into a wine-glass, of a 
conical form, that has been moistened 
slightly. The sulphur will immediately 
crystallize, and become solid ; if the pro- 
cess be watched, the crystals may be ob- 
served to shoot across the fluid mass in a 
very beautiful manner. 

Melt a small quantity of sulphur, cau- 
tiously, in a Florence flask, and after re- 
moving it from the spirit-lamp, or flame by 
which the sulphur has been melted, pour 
away the liquid that remains when the 
outer portion has become solid, and the 
crystallization of the sulphur may then be 
seen. The mass will form a very pleasing 
object if taken from the flask. 

The following experiment is a pleasing 
illustration of metallic crystallization : 
Heat a common plate of sheet tin, which is 
merely iron covered with tin, before the fire, 
or over a lamp, till it is as warm as may be 
necessary to cause water dropped upon it 
to evaporate quickly, with a slight hissing 
noise. Let the tin with which the iron is 
coated be then washed with a cloth, well 
moistened with a mixture composed of 
water, one ounce, muriatic acid, one 
drachm, and nitric acid, one drachm. The 
cold fluid causes the hot tin suddenly to 
assume the crystalline form ; and as the 
acids act upon the external particles of the 
tin, and expose those below, the crystalline 
arrangement is beautifully seen. 

If a little nitre be dissolved in boiling 
water till the water will dissolve no more, 
and then allowed to cool, crystals, in six- 
sided prisms will be formed. 

Dissolve an ounce of sulphate of soda in 
two ounces of boiling water. Pour the 
solution into a wedgewood evaporating 
dish, or into a saucer, and put into a warm 
place. As the water of solution evaporates, 
the saline matter will crystallize, resum- 



r 



CHEMICAIv SURPRISES. 



161 



ing the same form which the crystals ex- 
i hibited before being dissolved. 

ARTIFICIAL MINERAL BASKETS. 

These pleasing chimney ornaments can 
! easily be manufactured, and the process 
; beautifully illustrates the manner in which 
crystallization proceeds. Make a solution 
of sulphate of copper, alum or copperas, 
by dissolving either of these substances in 
hot water, and when it begins to cool, sus- 
pend in it little wire baskets for about ten 
minutes. 

The alum, etc., will immediately form 
crystals on the wire, in the same way that 
sugar does when formed into sugar-candy ; 
and baskets and other ornaments of the 
most pleasing and diversified forms may 
thus be easily produced. 

RAPID CRYSTALLIZATION. 

Make a strong solution of Glauber's salt 
in boiling water in a Florence flask, and, 
while hot, cork it up ; a vacuum will thus 
be formed by the condensation of the steam 
above the surface of the solution within 
the flask, when the solution is perfectly 
cold. If the cork be now carefully taken 
out, the whole will begin to crystallize. 
Should this effect not be immediately pro- 
duced, drop a crystal of the same salt into 
it, and it will instantly shoot into crystals, 
commencing with the crystal so intro- 
duced. 

APPARENT TRANSFORMATION OF 
IRON INTO COPPER. 
Make a solution of sulphate of copper 
I (blue vitriol), by dissolving it in water. If 
' a knife, or any other iron instrument, be 
then dipped in the solution, it will be- 
come covered with a coat of copper, and 
in appearance exactly resemble that metal. 
The iron has a strong affinity for the cop- 
per, and attracts it from the water. 
11 



BEAUTIFUL APPEARANCE OP 
HOAR FROST. 

Place a sprig of rosemary, or other gar- 
den herb, in a glass jar, so that when it is 
inverted the stem may be downwards, and 
the sprig supported by the sides of the jar. 
Now put some Benzoic acid on a piece of 
iron, hot enough to sublime the acid in 
the form of a thick, white vapor ; invert 
the jar over the iron, and leave the whole 
untouched until the sprig is covered with 
the sublimed acid, in the form of a beautiful 
hoar frost. This is an excellent example 
of sublimation. 

TO MAKE FUSIBLE SPOONS. 

Melt about four ounces of bismuth in a 
crucible, and, when fused, throw in about 
two ounces and a half of lead, and one 
ounce and a half of tin. These metals 
will combine, and form an alloy, which 
melts at a very low degree of temperature. 
If some of it is formed into teaspoons 
(which may easily be done by making a 
mould in clay, or plaster of Paris, from 
another spoon), the spoons thus made will 
produce much amusement ; for if one of 
them be placed in hot tea it will melt, and 
sink to the bottom of the cup, much to the 
surprise of the person using them ; and 
even if they do not melt, they will bend 
considerably. 

They have a bright appearance, and if 
made well, will not be easily distinguished 
from ordinary metal spoons. 

TO MAKE ARTIFICIAL FIRY BALLS. 

Put thirty grains of phosphorus into a 
Florence flask, with three or four ounces 
of water. Place this over a lamp, and 
give it a boiling heat. Balls of fire will 
soon be seen to issue from the water, after 
the manner of an artificial firework, at- 
tended with the most beautiful corusca- 
tions. 



'^t 



162 



CHEMICAL SURPRISES. 



CURIOUS PROPERTY OF BURNING 
CAMPHOR. 

If a small piece of camphor be ignited at 
a candle, and then placed in a basin of 
water, it will not only float and remain in 
an inflamed state, but will also appear agi- 
tated ; and in this state will move to and 
fro on the surface of the water, at the same 
time emitting a very fragrant smell. 

If, during the time the camphor is in 
motion, a drop of oil be let fall from a 
feather into the basin, the camphor will sud- 
denly stop, as if arrested by something 



peculiarly attractive. A drop of any kind 
of grease produces a similar effect. 

TO TEST THE PURITY OF STEEL. 

Steel is composed of iron and charcoal. 
If, therefore, a drop of nitric acid falls on 
a piece of it, the part will immediately 
become black, in consequence of the acid 
uniting with the iron, and leaving the car- 
bon free. If the acid be dropped on iron, 
this effect will not be produced ; and the 
comparative goodness of steel may, there- 
fore, be ascertained by this means. 




r 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS 



COMPRISING 



USEFUL LESSONS TAUGHT BY SCIENTIFIC 

EXPERIMENTS. 




THE TWO ELECTRICITIES. 



XPBRIMENTS in 
electricity have a won- 
derful fascination for 
almost everybody. We 
hear so much now 
about this remarkable 
force in nature, and 
the uses to which it is applied are so many, 
that the public mind is eager to investigate 
it, and is ready to believe it capable of 
almost miraculous achievements. 

For this reason experiments with elec- 
tricity are both interesting and entertain- 
ing, while they also furnish a fund of 
scientific information. 

The apparatus required for the first ex- 
periment in electricity is a few pith-balls 
the size of a small pea ; some cocoon silk; 
a thick stick of sealing-wax, or, better, a 
polished rod of vulcanite about 9 in. 
long and ^ in. diameter (a paper-knife, 
comb, or penholder made of ebonite 
answers); a glass tube about % in. dia- 
meter and 9 in. long, closed at both ends ; 
a silk handkerchief ; and a few other trivial 
articles, which will be named as occasion 
requires. One remark about experiments 
in frictional or static electricity may here 
be made, and that is, that in certain condi- 
tions of the atmosphere it is scarcely pos- 
sible to succeed. A very dry air, like that 



which often occurs after the continuance 
of a severe frost, a warm room free from 
any trace of moisture, and the absence of 
draughts, give the most favorable condi- 
tions. 

Rarely there are times when you cannot 
touch the domestic cat, or comb your hair 
without eliciting electrical manifestations. 
Suspend by a single fibre of cocoon silk 
one of the pith-balls. Warm the silk 
handkerchief before the fire, and with it 
rub the stick of sealing-wax (or vulcanite 
rod) ; when this is presented to the pith- 
ball, the latter will be attracted, move 
quickly towards the sealing-wax, cling to 
it for an instant, and then fly away under 
a repulsive force, so that it may be now 
chased by the sealing-wax, to which it will 
seem to have the utmost aversion. This 
will subside after a time, or you may re- 
move it by touching the pith-ball with 
your finger. 

Now holding the glass tube at one end, 
you rub the other end vigorously with the 
warm handkerchief, and repeat the experi- 
ment as before with similar results ; first 
attraction, then repulsion. While the pith- 
ball is in the condition of being repelled by 
the glass tube, bring near it the just pre- 
viously rubbed sealing-wax, when the pith- 
ball will be strongly attracted. There 

163 



164 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



would thus appear to be two kiuds of elec- 
tricity, for oue attracts what the other 
repels. 

These might be called ^/<2J5 electricity and 
sealing-ivax electricity^ and it was, indeed, 
at one time, the practice to distinguish 
them by the name vitreous and resinous 
electricity (resin is the chief constituent of 
sealing-wax). Afterwards the terms re- 
spectively applied to them were " positive ' ' 
and "negative," and these are still used. 
They must not be understood as meaning 
anythuig, or implying more than just a 
distinction of opposites. We may often for 
shortness use the sign -t- instead of the 
words *' positive, or vitreous electricity," 
and the sign - instead of "negative, or 
resinous electricity." 

FuES lyiKE A Pendulum. 

If you hold the rubbed glass near one side 
of the pith-ball, and the rubbed ebonite or 
sealing-wax on the other, the pith-ball will 
oscillate between them like a pendulum for 
a considerable time. Connect two pith- 
balls together with a piece of line^i thread, 
so that the pith-balls shall be about 2 1^ in. 
apart. Attach to the linen thread half- 
way between the two balls a fibre of cocoon 
silk, and by this suspend the balls, which 
will han^ down touching each other. 
Charge them with - electricity by touching 
them with the rubbed sealing-wax (or 
ebonite) ; the silk fibre will not carry off 
the electricity, and two charged balls will 
diverge widely from each other, showing 
mutual repulsion. 

Discharge the balls by touching them 
with the finger, and repeat the experiment 
with -I electricity. The balls will again 
repel each other. These facts summed up 
are quite parallel to the case of magnetism, 
and may be stated thus — Bodies charged 
with the same electricity repel each other^ 



but bodies charged with opposite electricities 
attract each other. 

Co7iductors and Non-cojiductors. — Sus- 
pend horizontally a length of ordinary 
hemp-cord by fibres of silk at intervals, in 
such a way that the cord shall nowhere be 
in contact with anything but the silk 
fibres. A short length may be so suspended 
from the top of the frame, but the experi- 
ment is more striking when other supports 
are used, so that a greater length of cord 
may be hung. To one end of the cord 
attach the pair of pith-balls connected by 
linen, and apply to the other end the well- 
rubbed glass or ebonite. You see the pith- 
balls immediately diverge, and that with 
the same electricity as you have imparted 
to the other end of the hempen cord. If 
now the experiment be repeated with an 
indiarubber or guttapercha cord there will 
be no effect. The hempen cord cofiducts 
the electricity, the guttapercha does not. 
Metals are among the best conductors, then 
follow carbon, black-lead, vegetable and 
animal bodies, aqueous vapor, etc. The 
71071- conductors include indiarubber, porce- 
lain, dry paper, hair, wool, silk, glass, wax, 
guttapercha, ebonite or vulcanite, sulphur, 
resins, amber, etc. 

Electric Flashes. 

Electricity is very largely produced in 
Nature's operations. The clouds are 
charged with it, and when they happen to 
come near to some other body which has 
electricity in it of a different kind, as, for 
example, a tall Ghimney, the steeple of a 
church, or a towering tree, a huge spark, 
which we call lightning, may pass between 
them, and the chimney or steeple may be 
hurled down or the tree riven asunder. 
Electricity is produced in our own bodies, 
each of the white cords in our systems 
which we call nerves having the power, 




WINTER RECREATION AND PLEASURE 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



165 



when experimeuted with, of turning the 
galvanometer needle. In some animals 
we may even have manifestations of 
the electricity produced in their bodies 
without having recourse to cutting them 
up. 

It is so in the case of a flat-fish called the 
torpedo, also in another called the electric 
eel. Both fishes may now often be seen in 
the tanks of our public ac- 
quaria, and you have doubtless 
often seen the big eel, with its 
belly-fin wriggling like a long 
blanket in the wind when its 
top has been fastened on hooks 
to dry before being sent into 
the market. 

The torpedo has a clumsy 
body, in shape a little like a 
musical instrument. The ma- 
chine Nature has given it, and 
that produces the shock, is 
very curious. It consists of a 
number of tubes, and is not 
unlike a piece of honeycomb. 
The tubes take up the whole 
length of the body, between 
the upper and under surface, 
and a secretion of thick mucus 
is found in them. 

The torpedo is very much 
dreaded by its neighbors in 
the sea. It feeds upon fishes, 
and whatever it can find, and uses its ma- 
chine to stun its prey. In the warm seas 
of the Tropics very large torpedoes are 
found. If you were to touch one it would 
give you a curious sensation. You would 
feel as you do when you give your elbow a 
blow against some sharp corner. The tor- 
pedo is a sluggish creature, and likes to 
bury itself in the sand. This is just the 
time when it is most to be dreaded. If an 
unlucky person were to disturb it by acci- 



dent, it would give him one of its most 
angry shocks. 

In these days a great deal is said about 
electricity, and the doctors are trying to 
make use of it to cure many complaints. 
But so long ago as the days of Antony and 
Cleopatra, the -torpedo was used as medi- 
cine too. Its shocks were thought to cure 
pains in the head, and various other mala- 




THK TORPEDO, OR KLKCTRIC FISH. 

dies. And in later times, if a man had the 
gout, he was told to put his foot on the 
torpedo, and to keep it there, until he felt 
a sensation of being numbed, as high up 
as his knee. Electricity is a very ancient 
remedy. Much amusement may be caused 
in an evening company by having a small 
battery, from which a slight shock may 
be given to a circle having their hands 
joined. Peals of laughter always accom- 
pany these electric experiments, 



166 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



HOW SOUND IS INCREASED. 

The microphone is an instrument for in- 
tensifying and making audible very feeble 
sounds. It produces its effects by the 
changes of intensity in an electric current, 
occasioned by variations in the contact re- 




THE MICROPHONE. 

sistance of conducting bodies. It has 
always been known that many solids are 
excellent conductors of sound. 

One of the little experiments of boyhood 
is for one lad to hold his head under water 
while another, not far away, strikes two 
stones together under the surface. The 



water coming in close contact with the ear, 
and being a good conductor of sound, pro- 
duces something in the nature of a shock, 
quite as startling as would be the firing of 
a pistol near one's head. This, it must be 
understood, is not the principle of the mi- 
crophone or telephone. There must be a 
conductor for the elec- 
tric current, but the 
current itself is indis- 
pensable. 

Thus, not only by 
the telegraph can 
words be transmitted, 
but also in a more 
direct way, and even 
the tones of the human voice can be 
distinguished. 

It is literally true that we talk by 
lightning, and can speak to a listener 
a thousand miles away. Our age finds 
in electricity its most marvelous field of 
discovery. 



MAGNETISM. 



SIMPLE MAGNETS, AND EXPERIMENTS WITH THEM. 



To commence experimental operations, 
a horseshoe magnet may be obtained for a 
few cents at any toy-shop. Draw one of 
the limbs of this magnet over a sewing- 
needle several times, and always in the 
same direction. Now, upon sticking this 
needle into a piece of paper, and suspend- 
ing it by a long thread from some conve- 
nient support, it will be observed that the 
needle takes up a position such that one 
end points to where the sun is at noon, 
and the other end, of course, in just the 
opposite direction. The former end of the 
needle is called the south pole, and the 
latter the north. So that there may be no 



mistake, put an N and an s at the ends of 
the paper corresponding to these poles. 

You are now in possession of a very 
simple magnet, with its poles pointing 
north and south ; and as it will have taken 
you no more time to make it than it has 
taken us to tell you how, )ou may as well 
make another just in the same way, mark- 
ing N and S on the paper again, so that 
there may be no mistake as to the indi- 
viduality of the poles. 

We have now two sewing-needle mag- 
nets, and upon bringing their like ends 
together, i. c.^ the ends marked N or the 
ends marked s, they shun each other, 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



167 



from which fact we are justified in saying 
that like poles repel each other. But suppose 
now we present unlike poles to each other, 
i. e.^ N to S, or, what amounts to the same 
thing, s to N, will they still repel each 
other ? 

Upon trying the experiment you will 
find this not to be the case, for upon 
bringing unlike poles near each other 
they display, as it were, the greatest desire 
to come together, from which we derive 
another important lesson that unlike poles 
attract each other. Hence, if you have a 
magnet, and do not know which is its 
north pole or which is its south, you have 
nothing to do but bring it near one of 
these suspended needles, when its beha- 
vior towards it will soon show which is its 
north and which its south pole. 

Put a very light sewing-needle on to a 
sheet of white paper resting on the table, 
bring now one of the ends of the horseshoe 
magnet towards the needle ; the needle 
will be attracted and slide towards the 
magnet. If now the needle be stroked 
with one of the poles of the magnet, and 
if it is stroked say a dozen times in the 
same direction always, it will now differ 
in its behavior, for while one end of the 
needle will be attracted when one of the 
limbs of the horseshoe is brought near it, 
the other end of the needle will be repelled 
by the same limb of the horseshoe. What 
has happened? The sewing- needle has 
been converted into a magnetic needle by 
the stroking. 

To Make a Bar Magnet. 

Procure a strip of steel a few inches 
long. Make the ends square by filing, 
and now draw one end of your horseshoe 
magnet along its whole length. Repeat 
this operation a great many times, taking 
care to always use the §ame limb of your 



horseshoe and to draw it always in the 
same direction. Ascertain the names of 
its two poles by means of one of your 
magnetised needles in the way we have 
described. 

Experiment With Iron Filings. 

As the bar magnet -lies on the table, 
cover it with a sheet of writing-paper, 
keeping the paper perfectly flat by means 
of packing on each side of the magnet, or 
what is better, perhaps, use stiff cardboard. 
Sprinkle iron filings over the paper or 
cardboard. The filings dispose them- 
selves. You will observe that on each 
side of the bar magnet each particle dis- 
poses itself, like the magnetised needle we 
have just been experimenting with. The 
iron filings, therefore, arrange themselves 
in curves, and these are generally spoken 
of as lines of magnetic force. 

How TO Copy the IvInes of Mag- 
netic Force. 

Make a solution of ground gall-nuts, 
and brush over a sheet of paper with the 
solution, removing superfluous moisture 
with blotting-paper. Place the damp 
paper over the curves, and press it evenly 
on them. Carefully lift the paper, dry 
quickly, and shake the adhering filings 
off. A picture of the curves is left on the 
paper. 

The Mariner's Compass. 

For steering his ship on the pathless 
ocean, the mariner wants some means of 
telling which is north, south, east or west ; 
and he employs the magnetic needle for 
this purpose. It is hardly worth while 
describing it, as every boy must have seen 
a compass, and you may, indeed, buy a 
small one from any optician for a few 
cents, This constancy, however, of the 



168 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



needle in pointing north and south makes 
one ask — "What is it which makes the 
compass needle take up nearly always the 
same position with respect to north and 
south?" 

The Earth is a Magnet. 

It is generally supposed, in answer to 
the preceding question, that the earth is 
an immense magnet. There is another 
peculiarity also which we should look for, 
and this is indicated in our study of the 
behavior of a magnetised needle when near 
a bar magnet. Just over either of the 
poles the needle was perpendicular to the 
surface of the bar ; so, likewise, a magnetic 
needle, if free to move in a vertical plane, 
ought to take quite a vertical position 
over the earth's magnetic poles 

A pole of this sort has been found in the 
northern hemisphere, and likewise one in 
the southern, where a magnetized needle 
of this sort called a "dipping" needle, 
takes a vertical position. Neither of these 
magnetic poles coincides with the poles of 
the earth's axis. 

Never since the years 165 7-1662 has the 
needle pointed in a true northerly direc- 
tion, and it alters its position slightly 
every year. In 1850, for example, the 
needle pointed about 22^^° west of true 
north, and fifteen years later it was 21° 6' 
west of north. Hence, where observations 
of the bearings of places have to be made 
for surveying and such like purposes, one 
has to learn from the recognized .authori- 
ties what is the amount of deviation from 
the true north, or the declination^ as it is 
termed, for the current year. 

How TO Make a Tom Thumb Electro- 
Magnet. 
Take a piece of iron wire about two 
inches long, and bend it into a horseshoe 
;jhape. Closely wrap round this from one 



end to the other silk- covered wire. Upon 
connecting the ends of the wire to a small 
battery the ends of the wire will draw to 
them a sewing-needle, thus showing that 
the iron wire has been magnetized by the 
electric current flowing round it. It 
would appear, then, that the iron wire has 
been converted into a magnet by the elec- 
tricity, because it would not attract a 
needle at all before the current was passed 
through the silk-covered wire. 

It will now be highly interesting to see 
whether the ends of the iron wire possess 
the peculiarity of repelling one end of a 
magnetic sewing-needle and attracting the 
other. With this end in view, bring one 
of your sewing-needle magnets carefully 
near to one of the ends of this iron wire 
while the current is flowing through. One 
end of the needle is very evidently 
shunned, while the other is drawn towards 
the wire. 

North and South Poles. 

It is now pretty obvious that we can tell 
what are the names of the poles of our 
Tom Thumb electro-magnet, because we 
have learnt that like poles repel each other, 
while unlike poles attract each other; 
hence, that end of the iron wire which re- 
pels the north end of our needle is the 
wire's north pole, and the remaining pole 
is its south one, and it will repel the south 
pole of our needle. 

I^et the poles of the Tom Thumb elec- 
tro-magnet be marked, so that we may 
now inquire into the relation between the 
electricity and the magnetism. Now, if 
we follow the current of positive electricity 
proceeding from the copper on its way to 
the spiral enclosing one end of the iron, 
we see that in creating a north pole of the 
electro-magnet the electricity flows round it 
in a direction opposed to the motion of the 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



169 



hands of a watch, whereas in creating 
a south pole it flows in the same direction 
as the hands of a watch. 

Very large electro-magnets are often 
'iiade, which will lift, instead of a tiny 
needle, many hundredweights of things. 
The magnet consists of a round bar of soft 
iron, around which wire has been turned 
and connected with a battery {i. e.^ a num- 
ber of cells all joined together). The 
magnetism thus produced in it keeps the 
flat bar of iron adhering to it, in opposi- 
tion to its tendency to fall to the ground. 

Under the flat piece of iron there is a 
hook, from which a board holding weights 
may be suspended, and on this as many 
weights may be piled as the strength of 
the electro-magnet will permit of. The 
weights will be held up as long as the cur- 
rent flows round the iron bar ; but imme- 
diately the current stops, down fall the 
weights with a tremendous bang. 

THE AIR WE BREATHE. 

A long time ago, when men knew nothing 
at all about what things are made of, they 
supposed that there were only four simple 
things in the whole world ; and those four 
things were — the air they breathed, the 
water they drank, the earth they trod on, 
and the fire wherewith they warmed them- 
selves and performed ordinary cooking 
operations. In course of time, however, 
they found that air consists of two very dif- 
ferent substances ; they discovered likewise 
that water is made up of two very dissimi- 
lar bodies ; and they found besides that the 
earth is formed from a great number of 
things ; while fire is no substance at all, but 
only a change that bodies are passing 
through. All that they learned, and that 
men have since learned about these matters, 
is now included under the head of Chem- 
istry. 



The air, as being one of the most com- 
mon things on the surface of the earth, 
received a large share of their attention. 
But it would weary you to hear all the 
operations they subjected it to, and all the 
suppositions they framed about it, after 
they had begun to suspect it was not a 
simple substance. We must therefore con- 
tent ourselves with repeating a simple and 
beautiful experiment they were wont to 
perform. 

Burning Phosphorus. 

Buy a stick of phosphorus from a chemist, 
and .when you go to purchase it take a 
small bottle filled with water to put it in. 
Do not handle it with your fingers. Isabel 
the bottle "Phosphorus," and any sub- 
stance you obtain in future carefully label 
in the same way. When you require a 
small piece of phosphorus for an experi- 
ment, you simply take out your pocket- 
knife and stick the point of the blade in it, 
and draw it out on to a piece of board or 
stone ; you may then cut ofi" a small bit for 
use and put the larger piece back into the 
bottle, quickly. 

And now to perform this experiment. 
Take an egg-shell, and break it down until 
the end forms a little saucer. Float this 
shell-saucer in a basin full of water. Put a 
bit of phosphorus into the floating shell, 
and now, having a pretty large tumbler in 
one hand, with the other apply a match to 
the phosphorus. Immediately the phos- 
phorus begins to burn bring the tumbler 
over it, with its mouth in contact with the 
water, so that the phosphorus burns only 
in the limited supply of air contained in 
the tumbler. The inside of the tumbler 
soon becomes filled with white smoke. 

You ought properly to have some sup- 
port under the glass, so that you can leave 
it awhile with its mouth still dipping in 



170 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



the water. You will find, after a time, 
that the smoke has disappeared, and that 
the water has risen up into the tumbler, 
and occupies about a fifth of the interior. 
We have now to inquire what has taken 
place, and, in doing so honestly, we shall 
acquire some very interesting information. 

First, then, let us examine the inside of 
the shell-boat. All the phosphorus is not 
burnt up. It would seem, then, that dur- 
ing the burning of the phosphorus some- 
thing was taken from the air ; and when 
this soynething was done, when there was 
no more of it left, the phosphorus went out. 
It is pretty evident, then, that the air we 
breathe consists of two parts, one of which 
supports combustion, while the other does 
not. 

And the experiment likewise tells us the 
relative proportions of these two substances 
which go to make up air ; for when any air 
is removed from a vessel opening into a 
liquid, that liquid rises to take its place, 
because of the atmospheric pressure. 
Therefore, since water has risen in the 
tumbler to the extent of one-fifth of its 
capacity, we may at once infer that the 
part of air which supports combustion 
forms one-fifth of it, and also that the part 
which does not support combustion forms 
four-fifths of it. 

And now we shall, for a few moments, 
have to turn from this experiment to take 
into consideration other facts which throw 
further light on it. 

An Acid. 

You are aware that vinegar has a sour 
taste, and it is commonly spoken of as an 
acid substance ; for the Latin word acidiis^ 
from which we derive ours, means sharp to 
the taste. Well, there are a great variety 
of substances which have this sour taste ; 
but it would be highly dangerous for you 



to apply the tongue to all of them, as you 
would probably get poisoned. We require, 
then, a simple test by means of which you 
can tell an acid when you come across it. 
This simple test is furnished in the next 
paragraph. 

Procure some red cabbage leaves, cut I 
them up, and put them in a teapot. Now 
pour boiling water on them, and allow 
them to stand for awhile. Pour oflf the 
liquid, and preserve in clean bottles. And 
here we may say that you will do well to 
turn to account all the physic and pickle 
bottles you can lay hold of, only clea^i 
them well. In doing this you will be fol- 
lowing the example of Sir Humphry Davy, 
who, when a boy, had to utilize all the 
spare domestic articles he could get hold 
of. 

But to return to our infusion of red cab- 
bage. Pour some of it into a tumbler, and 
notice that it is nearly colorless, being only 
very slightly tinted bluish. Upon adding 
a few drops of vinegar, the solution turns 
red. An acid will therefore turn an infu- 
sion of red cabbage red, and by this prop- 
erty we may know it. To another portion 
of red cabbage infusion add a drop of oil 
of vitriol : it immediately turns red, prov- 
ing to us at once that it is an acid, and 
chemists call it sulphuric acid. 

The Constituents of Air. 

We may now, then, return to our first 
experiment regarding the composition of 
air. The only substances which disap- 
peared in this experiment were a portion of 
the air and a portion of the phosphorus, 
and a cloud of white smoke was formed 
from them. This white substance soon 
disappeared, however, and it is not difficult 
to see where it disappeared to, for there 
was nowhere for it to go except into tlie 
water. The water dissolved it just as it 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



171 



dissolves sugar ; and now comes the in- 
teresting fact. 

After dissolving this white substance, 
the water became acid ; for if you take the 
water in the basin, and add it to our cab- 
bage infusion, it will turn it red. To see 
that this IS so, without any doubt, take a 
saucer, and after putting a bit of phospho- 
rus on it, set it on fire, ^nd turn a tumbler 
upside down on it. The white substance 
collects on the inside of the tumbler, and 
you may now add a little water to it, which 
will dissolve it before your eyes ; and upon 
pouring this solution into a portion of cab- 
bage infusion, it at once turns red. 

We have clearly, then, produced an acid^ 
And it has been done by making phos- 
phorus burn in air, and take to itself a 
particular portion of that air, and the white 
substance formed has then been dissolved. 
This one-fifth of the air, then, which enters 
into combination with phosphorus, was re- 
garded by the old chemists as an acid pro- 
ducer, and they called it by that name ; for 
they christened it oxygen, which is a word 
derived from the Greek oxys (acid), and 
gennao (I produce). One-fifth, then, of the 
air we breathe is oxygen, and the remain- 
ing ^our-fifths is a substance entirely dif- 
ferent, to which the name of nitrogen has 
been given. 

ELEMENTS AND OOMPOUNDS. 

Such a body as red precipitate is called 
by the chemist compound^ because it is 
possible to split it up into simpler sub- 
stances. Rust is a compound of iron and 
oxygen, and the white substance we have 
spoken about is a compound of phosphor- 
ous and oxygen. Now, by no means that 
we have yet discovered, can we split up 
oxygen into anything else but oxygen, or 
nitrogen, phosphorous, iron and mercury 
into anything else but these bodies. Simple 



substances, like these, are therefore, known 
to us as elements ; and, so far as we know, 
they are elements in the strictest sense of 
the word, and thus very unlike the se- 
called elements known to the ancients. 

There are more than si?:ty elements, and 
all the substances the . world is made of 
consist of various combinations of them. 
Among the more common elements we 
have four gases : oxygen, hydrogen, nitro- 
gen and chlorine ; the metals iron, mer- 
cury, tin, zinc, gold, silver, copper, pla- 
tinum, potassium, sodium, aluminum and 
calcium ; and the non-metals bromine, io- 
dine, carbon, phosphorus and sulphur. 

SOME EXPERIMENTS WITH 
OXYGEN. 

To get a quantity of oxygen for experi- 
mental purposes, procure some chlorate of 
potash and powder it ; mix well with fine 
oxide of manganese, and place the mixture 
in a saucer, to be dried well before using. 
The mixture may now be put in a flask, 
from which a delivery tube leads under 
the surface of a jar filled with water. The 
flask is now heated strongly. After a 
time, the oxygen begins to come off very 
rapidly, and the jar is soon filled ; another 
ought to be in readiness close by, so that 
no gas may be wasted. 

Let us suppose, then, that you have ob- 
tained a couple of jars full of oxygen. You 
may now perform a couple of brilliant ex- 
periments. Procure a piece of brimstone, 
to burn in the oxygen. You require first 
a piece of cardboard, which may be used 
to replace the glass cover of the jar, and, 
having pushed a piece of wire through 
this, its lower end must be twisted into a 
close spiral, so as to form a small cup. 
Place a bit of sulphur in the cup and set 
it on fire ; it will begin to burn with a 
faint blue flame in air, likewise giving off, 



172 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONvS. 



at the same time, a something with a most 
suflfocating odor. 

Quickly remove the glass plate from a 
jar of oxygen, and replace it with the card 
cover. Now, the sulphur flame is quick- 
ened into life, for it burns most vividly, 
whereas, before placing it in the jar of 
oxygen, it had only a feeble flame. If, 
after this experiment, you pour a little 
fresh water into the flask, and rinse it 
round, you will find that it possesses acid 
properties. 

An Oxide. 

And now, as this testing for acids is a 
most frequent operation with us, it would 
be very convenient if we could manage it 
in a handier form than having to use an 
infusion of red cabbage each time. You 
may, therefore, buy at the druggist's a 
small book of litmus paper for a dime. 
The leaves are of a blue color ; and when 
you want to test anything, you take a 
small portion of one of them and dip it 
into the solution. If the solution be acid, 
it will at once turn the blue litmus paper 
red, even as it turned the color of our red- 
cabbage infusion. Upon testing the water 
in the jar, after burning sulphur in it, the 
blue litmus paper is turned to a decided 
red. 

Sulphur and oxygen have evidently 
combined to form an oxide, and this oxide 
is known to chemists as sulphirous anhy- 
dride. It is a transparent gas, so that you 
cannot see it ; but your nose soon tells you 
of its presence, as it possesses an exceed- 
ingly pun<^ent odor. It is also very solu- 
ble in water, and the solution acts like an 
acid. 

And now, having cleaned our wire cup, 
if it be still all right after the sulphur ex- 
periment, we may use it for another of a 
similar nature. You must^ this time, 



place a bit of charcoal or carbon in it, and, 
having just managed to make some por- 
tion of the charcoal red hot, you may 
quickly introduce it into a jar of oxygen 
as before, when you will produce a most 
brilliant display, and soon all the carbon 
will have burnt away ; or else, if there be 
too much of it, there will not be enough 
oxygen to burn it up. 

In this experiment, oxygen and carbon 
are brought together, and consequently, 
an oxide of carbon is formed. This oxide 
of carbon is generally known as carbonic 
acid^ and chemists call it carbonic anhydride. 
It will be found upon washing the inside 
of the bottle with fresh cold water again as 
before, that the blue litmus paper gives a 
feeble acid reaction. 

HYDROGEN. 

And now we turn for a few minutes to 
consider the lightest of all known gases, 
which is also invisible and transparent. 
Place scraps of zinc in a bottle, cover 
with a little water, and now, when a fun- 
nel tube dips into it, pour through it some 
hydrochloric acid. Hydrogen will begin 
to rise from the surface of the liquid at 
once, and if you want it to come ofl" fast, 
you add more acid by the funnel. After 
sufficient time has elapsed for the air 
within the bottle to be all expelled, you 
may now bring the delivery tube un- 
der an inverted jar filled with water. The 
gas is so very light, that you may even fill 
ajar by holding it mouth downwards, and 
passing the gas up to the top, where by 
reason of its lightness, it will displace the 
air. 

Take a jar of the gas with its mouth 
downwards, and rapidly pass a lighted 
taper up into it. The taper is put out, but 
the gas at the mouth of the jar burns. We 
are taught two things by this simple ex- 




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SLKFP INDUCED BY FIXATION OF GAZE. 

Obje.-t beiu^ a Diamond Rinjr held in thp Author's Hand. 
U$edo_KOHti.s\ nf Ihr HF.Wr HERRY Lomfyauv, Lhicafo Pub'ishfnof 



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INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



17.1 



periment, for we learn, from the fact of 
the taper being put out, that hydrogen 
does not support combustion, and farther, 
from the blaze at the mouth, that hydro- 
gen burns in air. Now, when a substance 
burns in air, such as carbon, for example, 
we have an oxide formed, therefore we 
shall probably have an oxide of hydrogen 
produced in this experiment, and we may 
as well at once anticipate matters by say- 
ing that this oxide of hydrogen which is 
produced goes by the very common name 
of water. 

Hydrogen in the Sun. 

It is not unreasonable to suppose that 
the sun, moon, and stars have substances 
in them such as the chemist is continually 
studying. And in many cases we can 
actually prove that it is so, as we have 
already described in speaking of the spec- 
troscope. Now among astronomers there 
was, for a long time, a great wish to know 
what the red prominences might be which 
are seen when the sun is eclipsed. 

Here, for example, in this diagram 
which represents an eclipse of the sun, 
you see three prominences extending out 
of the black disc ; these prominences are 
of a ruddy color. When their nature was 
inquired into by means of the spectroscope 
it was found that hydrogen was most cer- 
tainly in them, so that we can say, with- 
out fe^r of contradiction, that there is an 
enormous ocean of glowing hydrogen on 
the sun's surface. 

Composition of Water. 

That water is produced when hydrogen 
is burned is readily shown. Suppose that 
the materials for making hydrogen are in 
A (see figure) — namely, zinc, water, and 
hydrochloric acid — the gas may be passed 
along the tube B, into the vessel c, con- 



taining fragments of lime, which will dry 
the hydrogen, and now, if the dry gas be 
conducted along the tube D drawn out to 
a jet at its end, when lit it will burn with 
a hot non-luminous flame, and in burning 
it combines with the oxygen of the air to 
form water. 

To prove this, bring a perfectly clean 




ECLIPSE OF THE SUN. 

and dry bell-jar over it : soon its surface 
will be covered with dew or condensed 
water vapor. Be careful in performing 
this experiment that you do not light 
the jet too soon, otherwise you may have 
an explosion. And we may further add 
that you need not go to any extra expense 
in making this experiment, for instead of 
the bell-jar at d you may use a clean dry 
tumbler; c you may make yourself, and 
the apparatus for generating the hydrogen 
may be the same as that used before. 

The diagram will serve, however, to 
show you how you ought to dispose of the 
various pieces of apparatus you are using. 
This way of making water by putting- 
together hydrogen and oxygen is called 
synthesis by the chemists, from the Greek 
word synthesis^ a putting or placing to- 
gether. 



174 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



The composition of water can be shown, 
however, in a variety of ways : you can, 
for example, decompose it by means of 
electricity. A vessel contains water which 
has been acidulated with sulphuric acid, 
two plates of platinum stick up in the 
fluid on either side of the vessel, and over 
them a couple of test tubes are inverted, 




BURNING HYDROGEN FROM A 

quite full of the liquid. Now the plati- 
num wires pass through the glass vessel, 
and are connected with the poles of a 
battery. 

Composition of Water Indirectly 
Shown. 

Bubbles of gas begin to rise from each 
pole and fill the tubes. The two tubes 
are filled at different rates, for it is soon 
evident that the gas contained in one of 
the tubes is twice the volume of the gas 
contained in the other. Upon testing the 
gases, the one of lesser volume is found to 
be oxygen, and the other is proved to be 
hydrogen. In this experiment we learn 
not only that hydrogen and oxygen go to 
form water, but we also learn the propor- 
tions of each, viz. : one measure of oxygen 
to two measures of hydrogen. 

Besides the direct ways of proving the 
composition of water, there are a number 



of ways in which it is indirectly shown. 
For example, the metal potassium has so 
strong an attraction for oxygen that it 
will even rob water of it, so that when 
you throw a bit of the metal into water it 
rushes up and down on the surface, seiz- 
ing the oxygen to itself, and liberating 
the hydrogen. So much heat is likewise 
produced during the ex- 
periment that the hy- 
drogen begins to burn, 
and you have what ap- 
pears to be water set on 
fire. This is a striking 
experiment, and at any 
time, where you think 
water is produced, you 
may test it by adding a 
bit of this potassium. 

_^^_^^ An Alkau. 

When the potassium 
combines with oxygen, 
an oxide is formed as usual, which is 
very soluble in water, but if you test the 
water now with litmus paper it does not 
turn red ; and you will find that if you dip 
a bit of litmus paper into it, that has 
already been reddened by acid, the redness 
disappears, and the blue color is restored. 
The acid has evidently been neutralised ; 
and substances which can neutralise acids 
in this way are called alkalies. 

Spirits of hartshorn or ammonia is a 
strong alkali ; so that yoii may readily re- 
store the blue back to reddened litmus 
paper by means of it. 

A Trick with Colors. 
If you now take the infusion of red cab- 
bage, you may perform with it what will 
appear to your companions to be a magical 
trick. Pour two wine-glasses full of the 
infusion, and now to one add a few drops 
of sulphuric acid, it turns red ; to the 
other add a few drops of the solution of 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



175 



oxide of potassium in water, it turns 
green ; and you may now remove the color 
from either by adding alkali to the acid 
solution, and acid to the alkali solution. 

CHLORINE. 

A little while ago we mentioned four 
common gasseous elements, and one of 
them, viz., chlorine, we have got to expe- 
riment with. It is an element we take into 
our system every day, just as we take 
oxygen and hydrogen, for common salt, of 
which we use so much with our food, con- 
tains a great amount of chlorine. It is 
transparent like the other gases we have 
studied, but it is colorless, for when you 
have made some you will see clearly that 
it is of a greenish tinge, and because of its 
color it was named chlorine, from the 
Greek, chloros (grass green). It has a most 
disagreeable smell, and if breathed in 
quantities it is exceedingly dangerous, and 
may cause one's death. 

How TO PrKPARB CHI.ORINE. 

To prepare the gas you take one part by 
weight of common salt, one part of black 
oxide of manganese, and mix in a large 
flask with two parts of sulphuric acid and 
two of water. The gas will begin to come 
off with a very slight heat. It is very 
soluble in water, so that it would cause a 
great waste of the gas to catch it over 
water in the usual way. It is therefore 
collected by displacement of the air, as it 
is about two and a half times heavier than 
it ; therefore, if the delivery tube reaches 
to the bottom of the jar the chlorine will 
gradually displace the air as the jar fills. 

Striking Experiments with 
Chlorine. 

Chlorine combines with the metals to 
form chlorides, just as oxygen unites with 



them to form oxides, and in combining 
with the metals some brilliant effects are 
produced. If you take a jar filled with 
chlorine, and sprinkle into it some finely- 
powdered antimony, you will observe a 
sort of fiery shower, which results from the 
powdered metal and chlorine uniting with 
great force to produce the chloride of 
antimony. 

Phosphorus will take fire of itself in 
chlorine gas, burning with a pale and 
feebly luminous flame. If you take a piece 
of paper and wet it with oil of turpentine 
you will now find, upon thrusting it into a 
jar of chlorine, that the element attacks 
the hydrogen contained in the oil of tur- 
pentine with such violence that it at once 
breaks out into a very smoky flame. This 
experiment with turpentine illustrates the 
action of chlorine . on what are called 
organic substances, so that you will per- 
ceive that if some unfortunate individual 
were to get his mouth full of this gas, his 
destruction would arise from the tissues 
of his inside being decomposed. 

Chlorine and Hydrogen. 

We have seen that hydrogen has a re- 
markable tendency to combine with oxy- 
gen. It also shows the same desire to 
unite with chlorine, so much so, in fact, 
that if equal measures of these gases, mixed 
together, be exposed to the action of diffuse 
daylight, they form a compound gas called 
hydrochloric acid. 

If, however, the light be very strong, 
such, for example, as you obtain when you 
burn magnesium wire, th^n the two gases 
combine with great violence. The latter 
experiment is illustrated in, where a glass 
vessel containing the mixed gases is placed 
under a wire screen while a piece of mag- 
nesium wire is being burned. The thin 
glass vessel will be shivered into a thou- 



176 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



sand pieces, hence the necessity for its 
being covered. 

How TO Bleach. 

Bleaching powder is a substance which 
contains chlorine, and the gas may be 
liberated from it by the addition of a weak 
acid, like diluted sulphuric acid, for ex- 
ample. Now, owing to this property chlor- 
ine has of destroying organic matters, it is 
sometimes used to destroy organic color- 
ing substances. 

Suppose, now, you have a piece of cloth 
dyed with some organic dye, and you want 
to bleach it, this would be your method of 
proceeding. You first mix a small quantity 
of bleaching powder with warm water, and 
filter. The dyed material is now washed 
in the filtered solution. You have beside 
you a basin containing very dilute sulphu- 
ric acid, and in this you rinse the material 
you have just taken out of the bleaching 
powder solution. This operation is re- 
peated for several times, until you have 
got all the color out. 

When the material, with the bleaching 
solution on it, was transferred to the bath 
of dilute sulphuric acid, the chlorine of the 
bleaching powder was liberated in the 
presence of water. It robbed the water of 
its hydrogen, and the oxygen newly set 
free, then combined with the coloring mat- 
ter of the dye, to form a new and colorless 
compound. This is how it is supposed the 
bleaching operation proceeds. 

How TO Ignite Paper Without Match 
OR Fire. 

Now, chlorine, besides combining with 
metals, to form chlorides, also combines 
rather loosely with oxygen ; for, it would 
seem to be a general rule that, where sub- 
stances are remarkably unlike each other, 
as, for example, metals and chlorine, the 



compounds formed by their union are re- 
markably firm and not easily to be de- 
stroyed ; while, on the other hand, where 
the substances are somewhat akin in their 
general qualities, like chlorine and oxygen, 
then, if they can be made to unite, their 
union is very feeble, and they may at any 
moment dissolve partnership in the most 
violent manner. 

What is known to chemists as chloric 
peroxide, is a compound of chlorine and 
oxygen of this sort. Its preparation is 
attended with no small amount of danger, 
but the following experiment may be tried 
without fear, and it is exceedingly strik- 
ing. Powder some chlorate of potash and 
sugar, and mix them well together. If 
you now take paper and put on it a little 
of this mixture, you only require to touch 
the mixture with a drop of sulphuric acid, 
from the end of a glass rod, and the paper 
will immediately be set on fire. 

And now, if you want to have a remark- 
able and harmless blaze up, place the 
remainder of the mixture on a plate in a 
conical heap, and touch it as before, with 
a drop of oil of vitrol (sulphuric acid) 
from the end of a glass rod . There will 
be a great and momentary blaze instantly. 

What happens in this experiment is the 
production of chloric peroxide, along with 
other bodies, by the action of the sul- 
phuric acid on the chlorate of potash. 
Instantly the peroxide is liberated, and 
comes into contact with the sugar, the 
partnership existing between the ill-sorted 
oxygen and chlorine is dissolved; or, in 
chemical language, there is violent de- 
composition. 

Action of Light on Silver 
Light has a peculiar effect on silver 
compounds, turning their color in a very 
short time. If, for example, you make 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



177 



Some chloride of silver, by adding a solu- 
tion of common salt to a solution of nitrate 
of silver, you will find that the chloride, 
which appears white upon being first 
made, becomes, in the course of a day or 
two, of a purplish tint. The iodide of 
silver is similarly acted upon, and these 
facts are utilized by the photographer in 
making his sun pictures. He places a 
very thin film of a compound of silver (the 
iodide) on a glass plate, and then puts this 
in a camera for the picture to fall on it. 
The picture which is thus projected on to 
the film of silver compound, is formed by 
rays of every degree of intensity and color, 
so that the silver compound is acted upon 
in a manner which differs for nearly every 
point of its surface. 

In the Dark Room. 

After an extremely short exposure, the 
plate is taken into a dark room, lit up 
only by the light coming through yellow 
glass ; but nothing can be seen on the glass 
plate. The image, if there be one, is 
hidden or latent, and it must be "devel- 
oped," or brought out. A mixture of 
copperas and acetic acid, in distilled water, 
is poured over the silver compound, and 
now a picture begins to show itself. The 
image is then well washed and " fixed, '^ 
that is, so dealt with that it is invulner- 
able to the further assaults of light. To 
this end it is washed in a solution of cya- 
nide of potassium. 

Now suppose the photographer had taken 
your likeness and brought it to you at this 
stage, you would probably be surprised to 
find yourself appearing on the glass plate 
like a grey-headed negro^ so far as color 
goes, because, on the plate, your skin seems 
dark and your black hair white ; in fact, 
things seem just the contrary from what 
they are, and the image is therefore called 
12 



a negative. A picture representing you 
as you are is termed a "positive," and the 
operation of getting a positive from a 
negative is known as "printing;" and 
here again the action of light on a silver 
compound is made use of, something in 
this way : 

A sheet of paper with chloride of silver 
in it, is placed in a frame, and the negative 
is fastened over it, just as you fasten a 
plate of ground glass and a drawing you 
are about to copy. Now, upon exposing 
this to the light of the sun, the chloride of 
silver in the paper will be acted on where- 
ever it is exposed, and unacted on where 
it is not exposed; and thus the blacks on 
the negatives are made into whites on the 
paper, and so on. 

This positive picture on the paper has to 
be fixed, or protected from the further 
action of the light ; that is, any chloride of 
silver, which might be still further colored 
by the action of light, so as to mar the pic- 
ture, must now be removed ; and this is 
done by dissolving it away with a solution 
of hyposulphite of soda. 

In the Photographer's Studio. 

We shall suppose that you have the 
privilege of walking about the photo- 
grapher's workshop, of watching him in 
all his operations, and listening to his 
explanations. You will now understand 
his remarks about negatives, . positives, 
printing, fixing, and so on as you stand 
in his operating-room. He takes a photo- 
graph while you are there, and you inno- 
cently ask him whether you could not 
manage to take a photograph with your 
camera obscura. He smiles, and says 
" No ;" for while his own camera is essen- 
tially the same in principle as yours, it 
throws a practically perfect image on the 
screen at G. In the tube at a b there is a 



178 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS. 



couple of lenses instead of one, as in your 
camera, and each of these is of a com- 
pound nature, to get rid of the color defect 
we mentioned before. You will, therefore, 
understand that the photographer's camera 
is rather a dear piece of apparatus. 

While he is making these observations 
he points the lens at B towards the object, 
and while looking at the ground glass 
screen at G, he turns the screw (v) until 
the picture cast upon the screen seems, in 
his eyes, perfect. The light coming from 
the object imprints itself into the film of 
iodide of silver on the plate in a moment. 




THE CAMERA. 

Let us inquire into the history of this 
sensitive plate before it is placed in the 
camera and after it is taken out. It was 
first a plate of glass without anything on 
it save dirt ; this the photographer got rid 
of by scrupulous cleaning ; and now it 
had to go through the operation of having 
a thin film of iodide of silver placed on 
one side. A substance called '* iodized 
collodion" was first poured carefully on to 
its surface, and then poured oflf carefully 
at one corner, so that a very thin, even 
film was left on the surface of the plate. 

This collodion is a solution of gun- 



cotton in ether and alcohol, and the iodized 
collodion is the solution with iodide of 
potassium added. You will, therefore, 
understand that the plate was now coated 
with the iodide of potassium, and upon 
dipping it into a bath of nitrate of silver 
the film became impregnated with the sen- 




POURING COLLODION ON PLATE. 

sitive iodide of silver, and was then placed 
in the dark frame preparatory to taking to 
the camera to replace G. 

And now for the history of the plate 
after exposure. The photographer care- 
fully carries it back in the dark frame to a 
small room lit up only by red or yellow 
light, and there a developing solution is 
poured over it. There are a great many of 
these developing solutions, the solution of 
copperas in distilled water and acetic acid 
being one of them. The image on the 
plate now comes out, and is washed and 
then fixed by placing in a dish containing 
a solution of cyanide of potassium ; it is 
now coated with a very thin covering of 




PRINTING FRAMES. 

copal varnish, and when dry is ready for 
the operation of printing. 

The future history of the negative plate i 



INSTRUCTIVE RECREATIONS- 



179 



is, therefore, now one of repeated use for 
obtaining positives. It is placed in a 
frame with the film side in close contact 
with paper which has been impregnated 
with chloride of silver, while the other 
side of the glass is freely exposed to the 
light. The daylight passes through the 
glass negative to the sensitive paper, where 
the pattern is reversed, and everything 
appears natural ; and now the last opera- 
tion is to take the paper and place it, 
picture-side downwards, on the surface of 
a solution of hyposulphite of soda, which 
dissolves the unused chloride of silver. 
The picture is then mounted. 

How TO Write Your Name upon 
Glass. 

Hydrofluoric acid has the peculiar prop- 
erty of attacking glass, so that you may 
readily write your name or anything else 
on glass in indestructible characters by 
means of it. To prepare the acid you 
powder some fluorspar (fluoride of calcium), 
and place it in a little leaden saucer. Such 



a saucer you may easily beat out from a 
small piece of sheet lead, and now you add 
to the powdered fluorspar some strong sul- 
phuric acid. You next take the plate of 
glass on which you are going to write, and 
cover it with a thin coating of beeswax, 
With the point of a needle you may now 
write on it whatever you wish, and then 
place the glass over the leaden vessel with 
its waxed face downwards. 

The leaden vessel with fluorspar and 
sulphuric acid in it is now gently heated, 
care being taken not to raise the tempera- 
ture sufficiently to melt the wax. In a 
few minutes you may remove the glass 
from the saucer. Hold it now near the 
fire, and wipe off the wax with a cloth. 
Whatever you wrote will be seen now 
graved in the glass. When the mixture in 
the saucer was heated, hydrofluoric acid 
was given off", and attacked the glass 
wherever the point of the needle had left 
it exposed, while the rest of its surface 
was protected by the thin coating of 
wax. 




PHRENOLOGY; 



OR 



How TO Read Character. 




HRENOLOGY always 
awakens great curios- 
ity, and is a never 
ending source o f 
amusement. Anyone 
w li o has sufficient 
skill to apply this 
science can amuse 
a company by the 
hour. Or, if he 
have no practical knowledge of phrenol- 
ogy, he can yet create boisterous merri- 



ment by pretending to examine the heads 
of those present, and at the same time 
humorously describing their characteris- 
tics. 

A glib tongue, a good collection of wit- 
ticisms, a readiness to turn little incidents 
into jokes is all that is required for this 
very pleasant pastime. Those who ven- 
ture to undergo the ordeal of an examina- 
tion before the company should be pre- 
pared to take in the right spirit all playful 
remarks and fun at their expense. 



NAMES AND LOCATIONS OF THE FACULTIES, 



The reader will be able to learn from the 
diagram the names of the various organs of 
the brain and where they are located. 

I. Amativeness. 
Conjugal love ; attachment to the oppo- 
site sex ; desire to love, be loved, and 
marry ; adapted to perpetuate the race. 
It causes those mutual attractions which 
exist between the sexes ; creates love ; in- 
duces marriage ; eventuates in offspring ; 
renders woman winning, persuasive, ur- 
bane, affectionate, loving and lovely ; and 
develops all of the feminine charms and 
graces ; and makes man noble in feeling 
and bearing; elevated in aspiration ; ten- 
der and bland in manner ; affectionate to- 
ward women ; pure in feeling ; highly sus- 
ceptible to female charms ; and clothes 
180 



him with that dignity, power and persua- 
siveness, which accompanies the mascu- 
line. 

Perverted, it occasions a grossness and 
valgarity in expression and action ; licen- 
tiousness in all its forms ; a feverish state 
of mind ; and depraves all the other pro- 
pensities ; treats the other sex merely as a 
minister to passion ; now caressing, and 
now abusing them ; and renders the love- 
feeling every way gross, animal and de- 
praved to a considerable degree. 

2. CONJUGAUTY. 

Love of husband for wife and wife for 
husband ; the instinct that mates ; conjugal 
fidelity ; appreciation of life companion ; 
normal state makes the good husband and 
the good wife. 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



181 



3. Parkntai, Love. 

Parental love ; attachment to one's own 
offspring ; love of children, pets and animals 
generally, especially those young or small ; 
adapted to that infantile condition in which 
man enters the world, 
and to children's need 
of parental care and 
education. 

This faculty renders 
children the richest 
treasure of their par- 
ents ; casts into the 
shade all the toil and 
expense they cause, 
and lacerates them 
with bitter pangs when 
death or distance tears 
them asunder. 

It is much larger 
in woman than in 
man ; and nature re- 
quires mothers to take 
the principal care of 
infants. Perverted, it 
spoils children by ex- 
cessive fondness, pam- 
pering and humoring. 

4. Friendship. 

Social feeling ; love 
of society ; desire to 
congregate, associate, 
visit, seek company, 
entertain friends, form and reciprocate at- 
tachments, and indulge friendly feelings. 
When perverted, it forms attachments for 
the low, vulgar, or vicious, and leads to 
bad company. Adapted to man's requisi- 
tion for concert of action, co-partnership, 
combination, and community of feeling 
and interest, and is a leading element of 
his social relations 



5. Inhabativeness. 

The home feeling; love of house, the 
place where one was born or has lived, and 
of home associations. Adapted to man's 
need of an abiding place, in which to exer- 




LOCATION, NUMBER AND DEFINITION OF THE ORGANS. 



cise the family feelings ; patriotism. Per- 
version — homesickness when away from 
home ; pining for the absent. 

6. Continuity. 

A patient dwelling upon one thing till it 
is finished ; consecutiveness and connected- 
ness of thought and feeling. Adapted to 
man's need of doing one thing at a time. 



182 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



Perversion — prolixity, repetition, and ex- 
cessive amplification. 

7. VlTATIVENESS. 

lyove of life and keen appreciation of its 
bright things; opposed to morbid melan- 
choly ; believes in looking on the bright 
side ; sees enjoyment everywhere and 
bravely meets adversity. 

8. COMBATIVENESS. 

Resistance ; opposition ; defence ; defi- 
ance; boldness; courage; resentment; 
spirit ; willingness to encounter ; self-pro- 
tection ; presence of mind ; determination ; 
get-out of-my-way ; let-me-and-mine-alone. 
Adapted to man's requisition for overcom- 
ing obstacles, contending for rights, etc. 
Perversion — anger ; contrariety ; fault-find- 
ing ; contention ; ill-nature, and fighting. 

9. Destructiveness. 
Executiveness ; severity ; sternness ; the 

destroying and pain-causing faculty ; 
harshness; extermination; indignation; dis- 
position to break, crush, and tear down ; 
the walk-right-through-spirit; adapted to 
man's destroying whatever is prejudicial 
to his happiness ; performing and enduring 
surgical operations ; undergoing pain, etc. 
Perversion — wrath; revenge; malice; dis- 
position to murder, etc. 

10. Alimentiveness. 
Appetite ; the feeding instinct ; relish 

for food ; hunger adapted to man's need of 
food, and creating a disposition to eat. 
Perverted, it produces gormandizing and 
gluttony, and ends in dyspepsia and all its 
evils. 

II. Acquisitiveness. 
Economy ; frugality ; the acquiring, 
saving, and hoarding instinct ; laying up 
of surplus, and allowing nothing to be 
wasted ; desire to possess and own ; the 
mine and thine feeling ; claiming of one's 



own things ; love of trading and amass- 
ing property. Adapted to man's need of 
laying up the necessities and comforts of 
life against a time of future need. Per- 
version — a miserly, grasping, close-fisted 
penuriousness. 

12. Secretiveness. 
Self-government ; ability to restrain 
feelings ; policy ; management ; reserve ; 
evasion ; discretion ; cunning. Adapted 
to man's requisition for controlling his 
animal nature. Perverted, it causes duplic- 
ity, double-dealing, lying, deception, and 
all kinds of false pretensions. 

13. Cautiousness. 
Carefulness ; watchfulness ; prudence ; 
provision against want and danger ; solic- 
itude ; anxiety ; apprehension ; security ; 
protection ; avoiding prospective evils ; 
the sentinel. Adapted to those dangers 
which surround us, and those provisions 
necessary for our future happiness. Per- 
version — irresolution ; timidity ; procras- 
tination ; indecision. 

14. Approbativeness. 
Desire to be esteemed ; regard for char- 
acter ; appearances, etc. ; love of praise ; 
desire to excel ; ambition ; aflfability ; 
politeness ; desire to display and show oflf ; 
sense of honor ; desire for a good name ; 
for notoriety, fame, eminence, distinction, 
and to be thought well of ; pride of char- 
acter ; sensitiveness to the speeches of 
people ; and love of popularity. Adapted 
to the reputable and disgraceful. Perver 
sion — vanity; affectation; cermoniousness ; 
aristocracy ; pomposity ; eagerness for pop- 
ularity ; outside display, etc. 

15. Self-Esteem. 
Self-appreciation and valuation ; self- 
respect and reliance; magnanimity, noble- 
ness ; independence ; dignity ; self-satis- 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



183 



faction and complacency ; love of liberty 
and power ; an aspiring, self elevating, 
ruling instinct ; pride of character ; man- 
liness ; lofty-mindedness, and desire . for 
elevation. Adapted to the superiority, 
greatness, and exalted dignity of human 
nature. 

Perversion — haughtiness ; forwardness ; 
overbearing, tyranny ; egotism and super- 
ciliousness. 

1 6. FiRMNKSS. 

Stability ; decision ; perserverance ; fixed- 
ness of purpose; tenacity of will, and 
aversion to change. Adapted to man's 
requisition for holding out to the end. 
Perversion — obstinacy ; willfulness ; mul- 
ishness ; stubbornness ; unwillingness to 
change, even though reason requires. 

17. Conscientiousness. 

Moral principle ; integrity ; perception 
and love of right ; innate sense of account- 
ability and obligation ; love of justice and 
truth ; regard for duty ; desire for moral 
purity and excellence ; disposition to ful- 
fill promises, agreements, etc. ; the internal 
monitor which approves the right and con- 
demns the wrong ; sense of guilt ; contri- 
tion ; desire to reform ; penitence ; forgive- 
ness. 

Adapted to the rightness of right, and 
the wrongness of wrong, and to the moral 
nature and constitution of things. Per- 
verted, it makes one do wrong from con- 
scientious scruples, and torments with 
undue self-condemnation. 

18. Hope. 

Expectation ; anticipation of future suc- 
cess and happiness. Adapted to man's 
relations with the future. Perverted, it 
becomes visionary and castle-building. 



. 19. Spirituality. 
Faith ; prescience ; the " light within ; " 
trust in divine guiding; perception and 
feeling of the spiritual ; interior percep- 
tion of truth, what is best, what is about 
to transpire, etc. Adapted to a spiritual 
state of mind and feeling. Perversion — 
superstition ; witchcraft ; and with Cau- 
tiousness large, fear of ghosts. 

20. Veneration. 
Devotion ; adoration of a Supreme 
Being ; reverence for religion and things 
sacred ; disposition to pray, worship, and 
observe religious rites. Adapted to the 
existence of a God, and the pleasures and 
benefits experienced by man in worshiping 
him. Perverted, it produces idolatry, big- 
otry, religious intolerance, etc. 

21. Benevolence. 
Kindness ; humanity ; desire to make 
others happy ; a self-sacrificing disposi- 
tion ; philanthropy ; generosity ; the ac- 
commodating, neighborly spirit. Adapted 
to man's capability of making his fellow- 
men happy. Perversion — misplaced sym- 
pathies. 

22. CONSTRUCTIVENESS. 

The making instinct; the tool-using 
talent; sleight of hand in constructing 
things. Adapted to man's need of things 
made, such as houses, clothes, and manu- 
facturing articles of all kinds. Perverted, 
it wastes time and money on perpetual 
motion, and other like futile inventions. 

23. Ideality. 
Perception and admiration of the beau- 
tiful and perfect ; good taste and refine- 
ment ; purity of feeling ; sense of pro- 
priety, elegance and gentility ; polish and 
imagination. Adapted to the beautiful in 
nature and art. Perverted, it gives fastid- 
iousness and extra niceness. 



184 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



24. Sublimity. 

Shows love of nature ; appreciation of 
the sublime and beautiful ; is enraptured 
with a snow-capped mountain or glowing 
sunset. Per\'erted, would do nothing but 
admire the grandeur and beauty of the 
natural world. 

25. Imitation. 

Ability and disposition to copy, take 
pattern, and imitate. Adapted to man's 
requisition for doing, talking, acting, etc., 
like others. Perverted, it copies even 
their faults. 

26. MiRTHFULNESS. 

Intuitive perception of the absurd and 
ridiculous ; disposition and ability to joke 
and make fun, and laugh at what is im- 
proper, ill-timed, or unbecoming ; pleas- 
antness ; facetiousness. Adapted to the 
absurd, inconsistent, and laughable. 

Perverted, it makes fun on solemn occa- 
sions, and where there is nothing ridicu- 
lous at which to laugh. 

27. Individuality. 
Observation ; desire to see and examine ; 

cognizance of individual objects. Adapted 
to individual existence, or the thingness 
of things ; and is the door through which 
most forms of knowledge enter the mind. 
Perverted, it makes the starer and the 
person who is impudently observing. 

28. Form. 
Cognizance and recollection of shape ; 
memory of countenances and the looks of 
persons and things seen ; perception of re- 
semblances, family likenesses, etc. Adapted 
to shape. Perverted, sees imaginary shapes 
of persons, things, etc. 

29. Size. 
Cognizance of bulk, magnitude, quan- 
tity, proportion, etc., ability to measure by 



the eye. Adapted to the absolute and 
relative magnitude of things. Perverted, it 
is pained by slight departure from propor- 
tion, or architectural inaccuracies. 

30. Weight. 
Intuitive perception and application of 
the laws of gravity, motion, etc. Adapted 
to man's requisition for motion. Per- 
verted, it runs imminent risk of falling. 

31. Color. 
Perception, recollection, and applica- 
tion, of colors, and delight in them. 
Adapted to that infinite variety of color- 
ing interspersed throughout nature. Per- 
verted, is over-particular to have colors 
just right. 

32. Order. 

Method, system, arrangement. Adapted 
to Heaven's first law. Perverted, it over- 
works, and annoys others to keep things in 
order, and is tormented by disarrangement. 

33. Calculation. 
Cognizance of numbers ; ability to 
reckon figures in the head ; mental arith- 
metic. Adapted to the relations of num- 
bers. 

34. lyOCALITY. 

Cognizance of place ; recollection of the 
looks of places, roads, scenery, and the 
location of objects ; where on a page ideas 
are to be found, and position generally ; the 
geographical faculty ; desire to see places, 
and the ability to find them. Adapted to 
the arrangement of space and place. Per- 
verted, it creates a cosmopolitic disposition, 
and would spend everything in traveling. 

35. Eventuality. 

Memory of facts ; recollection of circum- 
stances, news, occurrences, and historical, 
scientific, and passing events ; what has 
been said, seen, heard, and once known. 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



185 



Adapted to action, or those changes con- 
stantly occurring around or within us. 

36. Time. 
Cognizance and recollection of duration 

and succession ; the lapse of time, when 
things occurred, etc., and ability to carry 
the time of the day in the head punctually. 
Adapted to periodicity. Perverted, it is 
excessively pained by bad time in music, 
not keeping steps in walking, etc. 

37. Tune. 

Ability to learn and remember tunes by 
rote; the music instinct and faculty. 
Adapted to the musical octave. Perver- 
sion — excessive fondness for music to the 
neglect of other things. 

38. lyANGHAGE. 

Expression of ideas and feelings by 
words, written or spoken, gesture, looks, 
and action ; the communicative faculty 
and instinct in general. Adapted to man's 
requisition for holding communcation with 
man. Perverted, it creates garrulity, ex- 
cessive talkativeness, telling what does 
harm, etc. 



39. Causality. 

Perception and application of causes; 
adaptation of ways and means to ends. 
Adapted to the institution in nature of 
causes and effects. Perverted by selfish- 
ness, it reasons in favor of untruth, and 
attains injurious ends. 

40. Comparison. 

Inductive reasoning ; ability and dis- 
position to classify, compare, draw infer- 
ences from analogy, etc. Adapted to those 
classifications which pervade universal 
nature. Perverted, is too redundant in 
proverbs, fables, and figures of speech. 

41. Human Nature. 

Discernment of character ; perception of 
motives ; intuitive physiognomy. Adapted 
to man's need of knowing his fellow-men. 
Perverted, it produces suspiciousness. 

42. Agreeableness. 

Persuasiveness, pleasantness, blandness. 
Adapted to please and win others. 



The Self-Instructor 



PHYSIOLOGICAL GONDITIONS AS AFFECTING AND 
INDICATING CHARACTER 




NOWIvEDGE is 
power" — to accom- 
V^^§Q| ^^1^ P^ish, to enjoy— 
^];^^^B^^jn and these are the 
only ends forwhich 
man was created. 
All knowledge 
confers this power. 
Thus, how incal- 
culably, and in how many ways, have re- 
cent discoveries in chemistry enhanced 
human happiness, of which the lucifer 
match furnishes a home example. In- 
creasing knowledge in agriculture is 
doubling the means of sustenance. How 
immeasurably have modern mechanical 
improvements multiplied, and cheapened 
all the comforts of life. How greatly have 
steamboats and railroads added to the for- 
mer stock of human success and pleasures. 
Similar remarks apply to all other kinds 
of knowledge, and as it increases from age 
to age will it proportionally multiply all 
forms of human happiness. In fact, its in- 
herent nature and legitimate effect is to 
promote every species of enjoyment and 
success. Other things being equal, those 
who know most, by a law of things, can 
both accomplish and enjoy most ; while ig- 
norance instead of being bliss, is the great- 
est cause of human weakness, wickedness 
and woe. Hence to enlighten man, is the 
way to reform and perfect him. 

But self-knowledge is, of all its other 
186 



kinds, both the most useful and promotive 
of personal and universal happiness and 
success. "Know thyself" was written, 
in golden capitals, upon the spendid tem- 
ple of Delphos, as the most important 
maxim the wise men of Greece could trans- 
mit to unborn generations ; and the Scrip- 
tures wisely command us to "search our 
own hearts. ' ' Since all happiness flows from 
obeying, and all pain from violating, the 
laws of our being, to know our own selves 
is to know these laws, and becomes the 
first step in the road of their obedience, 
which is life. 

"Know Thyself." 

Self-knowledge, by teaching the laws 
and conditions of life and health, becomes 
the most efficacious means of prolonging 
the former and increasing the latter — both 
of which are paramount conditions of en- 
joying and accomplishing. It ialso shows 
us our natural talents, capabilities, virtues, 
vices, strong and weak points, liabilities to 
err, etc., and thereby points out, unmistak- 
ably, those occupations and spheres in 
which we can and cannot .succeed and 
shine ; and develops the laws and condi- 
tions of human and personal virtue and 
moral perfection, as well as of vice, and 
how to avoid it. 

It is, therefore, the quintessence of all 
knowledge ; places its possessor upon the 
very acme of enjoyment and perfection; 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



18T 



bestows the highest power and richest 
treasures mortals can possess. In short, to 
know ourselves perfectly, is to know every 
law of our being, every condition of hap- 
piness, and every cause of suffering ; and 
to practice such knowledge, is to render 
ourselves as perfectly happy, throughout 
every department of our being, as we can 
possibly be and live. 

One Magnificent Whole. 

And since nothing in nature stands 
alone, but each is reciprocally related to 
all, and all, collectively, form one magni- 
ficent whole — since all stars and worlds 
mutually act and react upon each other, 
to cause day and night, summer and win- 
ter, sun and rain, blossom and fruit ; since 
every genus, species and individual 
throughout nature is second or sixteenth 
cousin to every other ; and since man is 
the epitome of universal nature, the em- 
bodiment of all her functions, the focus of 
all her light, and representative of all her 
perfections — of course to understand hint 
thoroughly is to know all things. Nor 
can nature be studied advantageously with- 
out him for a text book, nor he without 
her. 

Moreover, since man is composed of 
mind and body, both reciprocally and 
most intimately related to each other — 
since his mentality is manifested only by 
bodily organs, and the latter depends 
wholly upon the former, of course his mind 
can be studied only through its organic 
relations. If it were manifested independ- 
ently of his physiology, it might be studied 
separately, but since all his organic condi- 
tions modify his mentality the two must 
be studied together. 

Heretofore humanity has been studied 
by piece-meal. Anatomists have investi- 
gated only his organic structure, and there 



stopped ; and mental philosophers have 
studied him metaphysically, wholly regard- 
less of all his physiological relations ; while 
theologians have theorized upon his moral 
faculties alone ; and hence their utter bar- 
renness, from Aristotle down. As if one 
should study nothing but the trunk of a 
tree, another only its roots, a third its 
leaves, or fruit, without compounding 
their researches, of what value is such 
piece-meal study ? 

If the physical man constituted one 
whole being, and the mental another, 
their separate study might be useful ; but 
since all we know of mind, and can do 
with it, is manifested and done wholly by 
means of physical instruments — especially 
since every possible condition and change 
of the physiology correspondingly affects 
the mentality— of course their mutual re- 
lations, and the laws of their reciprocal 
action, must be investigated collectively, 

A New Star. 

Besides, every mental philosopher has 
deduced his system from his own closest 
cogitations, and hence their babel-like 
confusion. But within the last half cen- 
tury, a new star, or rather sun, has arisen 
upon the horizon of mind — a sun which 
puts the finger of scientific certainty upon 
every mental faculty, and discloses those 
physiological conditions which affect, in- 
crease or diminish, purify or corrupt, or 
in any other way modify, either the mind 
itself, or its products — thought, feeling 
and character — and thereby reduces mental 
study to the same tangible basis of propor- ^ 
tion in which all science consists ; leaving 
nothing dark or doubtful, but developing 
the true science of mind, and the laws of its 
action. 

Of this, the greatest of all discoveries. 
Gall was the author, and Phrenology and 



188 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



Physiology the instruments which con- 
jointly embrace whatever appertains to 
mind, and to man, in all his organic rela- 
tions, show how to perfect the former by 
improving the latter, and disclose specific 
signs of character, by which we may know 
ourselves and our fellow-men with cer- 
tainty — a species of knowledge most de- 
lightful in acquisition, and valuable in 
application. 

Structure Corresponds with 
Character. 

Throughout universal nature, the struc- 
ture of all things is powerful or weak, hard 
or soft, coarse or fine, etc., in accordance 
with its functions ; and in this there is a 
philosophical fitness or adaptation. What 
immense power of function trees put forth, 
to rear and sustain aloft, at such great 
mechanical disadvantage, their ponderous 
load and vast canvas of leaves, limbs, and 
fruit or seeds, spread out to all the surgings 
of tempestuous winds and storms ; and the 
texture of wood is as compact and firm as 
its functional power is prodigious. Hence 
its value as timber. 

But tender vegetables, grains, etc., re- 
quire little power, and accordingly are 
fragile in structure. Lions, tigers, hyenas, 
and all powerfully strong beasts, have a 
correspondingly powerful organic struc- 
ture. The muscular strength of lions is so 
extraordinary, that seizing wild cattle by 
the neck, they dash through thicket, 
marsh, and ravine, for hours together, as a 
cat would drag a squirrel, and their roar is 
most terrific. So compact are the skins of 
the elephants, rhinoceros, alligator, and 
some other animals of great muscular 
might, that rifle-balls, shot against them, 
often flatten and fall at their feet— their 
structure being as dense as their strength 
is mighty — while feeble animals have a 



correspondingly soft structure. In like 
manner, the flesh of strong persons is dense 
and most elastic, while those of weakly 
ones are flabby, and yield to pressure. 

Moreover, fineness of texture manifests 
exquisiteness of sensibility, as seen by con- 
trasting human organism and feelings with 
brutes, or fine-haired persons with coarse- 
haired. Of course, a similar relation and 
adaptation exist between all other organic 
characteristics and their functions. In 
short, it is a law as philosophical as uni- 
versal, that the structure of all beings, and 
of each of their organs, corresponds per- 
fectly with their functions — a law based in 
the very nature and' fitness of things, and 
governing all shades and diversities of or- 
ganization and manifestation. 

Accordingly, those who are coarse- 
skinned are coarse in feeling, and coarse- 
grained throughout ; while those finely or- 
ganized are fine-minded, and thus of all 
other textures of hair, skin, etc. 

Shape Corresponds with Character. 

Matter, in its primeval state, was '* with- 
out form, and void," or gaseous, but slowly 
condensing, it solidified or crystallized into 
minerals and rocks — and all rocks and 
minerals are crystalline — which, decom- 
posed by sun and air, form soil, and finally 
assume organic, or animal and vegetable 
forms. All crystals assume angular forms, 
and all vegetables and animals those more 
or less spherical, as seeds, fruits, etc., in 
proportion as they are lower or higher in 
the creative scale ; though other conditions 
sometimes modify this result. 

Nature also manifests certain types of 
character in and by corresponding types of 
form. Thus all trees bear a general re- 
semblance to all other trees in growth and 
general character, and also in shape ; and 
those most nearly allied in character ap- 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



189 



proximate in shape, as pine, hemlock, firs, 
etc., while every tree of a given kind is 
shaped like all others of that kind, in bark 
limb, leaf, and fruit. So all grains, grasses, 
fruits, and every bear, horse, elephant, and 
human being bear a close resemblance to 
all others of its kind, both in character 
and configuration, and on this resemblance 
all scientific classification is based. 

And, since this general correspondence 
exists between all the divisions and sub- 
divisions into classes, genera, and species 
of nature's works, of course the resemblance 
is perfect between all the details of outward 
forms and inward mental characteristics ; 
for this law, seen to govern nature in the 
outline, must of course govern her in all 
her minutest details ; so that every existing 
outward shape is but the mirrored reflec- 
tion of its inner likeness. 

Resemblances oe Shape. 

Moreover, since nature always clothes 
like mentalities in like shapes, as oak, 
pine, apple, and other trees, and all lions, 
sheep, fish, etc., in other general types of 
form, of course the more nearly any two 
beings approximate to each other in mental 
disposition, do they resemble each other in 
shape. Thus, not only do tiger form and 
character always accompany each other, 
but leopards, panthers, cats, and all feline 
species resemble this tiger shape more or 
less closely, according as their dispositions 
approach or depart from his ; and monkeys 
approach nearer to the human shape, and 
also mentality, than any other animal 
except orang-outangs, which are still more 
human both in shape and character, and 
form the connecting link between man 
and brute. 

How absolute and universal, therefore, 
the correspondence, both in general out- 
line and minute detail, between shape and 



character. Hence the shape of all things 
becomes a sure index of its mentality. 

Resembi^ance Between Human and 
Animal Physiognomy. 

Moreover, some men closely resemble 
one or another of the animal species, in 
both looks and character ; that is, have 
the eagle, or bull-dog, or lion, or baboon 
expression of face, and when they do, they 
have the corresponding characteristics. 

Thus the lion's head and face are broad 
and stout built, with a heavy beard and 
mane, and a mouth rendered square by 
small front and large eye teeth, and its 
corners slightly turning downward ; and 
the human lion who takes hold only of 
some great undertaking, which he pursues 
with indomitable energy, rarely pounces 
on his prey, but when he does, so roars 
that a nation quakes ; demolishes his vic- 
tim ; and is an intelligent king among 
men — bears no slight physiognomical re- 
semblance in stout form, square face and 
mouth, large nose, and open countenance, 
to the king of beasts. 

Tristam Burgess, called in Congress the 
'' Bald Eagle," from his having the aquiline 
or eagle-bill nose, a projection in the upper 
lip, falling into an indentation in the 
lower, his eagle-shaped eyes and eyebrows, 
general contour of his striking face, 
eagle-like in character, was the most sar- 
castic, tearing and soaring man of his day, 
John Randolph excepted. And whoever 
has a long, hooked, hawk-bill, or common 
nose, wide mouth, spare form, prominence 
at the lower and middle part of the fore- 
head, is very fierce when assailed, high 
tempered, vindictive, efficient, and aspir- 
ing, and will fly higher and farther than 
others. 

Tigers are always spare, muscular, long, 
full over the eyes slanting downward from 



190 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



their outer to inner angles ; and human 
beings thus physiognomically character- 
ized, are fierce, domineering, revengeful, 
most enterprising, not over humane, a 
terror to enemies, and conspicuous some- 
where. 

Bull-dogs, generally fleshy, square- 
mouthed — because their tusks project and 
front teeth retire — broad-headed, indolent 
unless roused, but then terribly fierce, have 
their correspondent men and women, whose 
growling, coarse, heavy voices, full habit, 
logy yet powerful motions, square face, 
down-turned corner of mouth, and general 
physiognomical cast betoken their second- 
cousin relationship to this growling, biting 
race, of which the old line-tender at the 
Newburgh dock is a sample. 

SwiNK — fat, logy, lazy, good-disposi- 
tioned, flat and hollow-nosed — have their 
cousins in large-abdomened, pad-nosed- 
double-chinned, talkative, story-enjoying, 
beer-loving, good-feeling, yes, yes, humans, 
who love some easy business, and hate 
hard work. 

Horses, oxen, sheep, owls, doves, snakes, 
and even frogs, etc, also have their men 
and women cousins, together with their 
accompanying characters. 

These resemblances are more difficult 
to describe than to recognize ; but the 
forms of mouth, nose, and chin, and sound 
of voice, are the best basis of observation. 

Beautiful, Homely, and Other Forms. 

In accordance with this general law, that 
shape is a character, well-proportioned per- 
sons have harmony of features, and well- 
balanced minds; whereas those, some of 
whose features stick right out, and others 
fall far in, have uneven, ill-balanced 
characters, so that homely, disjointed ex- 
teriors indicate corresponding interiors, 
while even-balanced and exquisitely formed 



men and women have well-balanced and 
susceptible mentalities. Hence, women, 
more beautiful than men, have finer feel- 
ings, and greater perfection of character, 
yet are less powerful — and the more beauti- 
fully formed the woman the more exquisite 
and perfect her mentality. 

True, some handsome women often 
make the greatest scolds, just as the 
sweetest things, when soured, become cor- 
respondingly sour. The finest things, when 
perverted, become the worst. These two 
extremes are the worst tempered — those 
naturally beautiful and fine skinned, be- 
come so exquisitely organized, that when 
perverted they are proportionally bad, and 
those naturally ugly-formed, become ugly 
by nature. 

Yet ordinary-looking persons are often 
excellent dispositioned, benevolent, tal- 
ented, etc., because they have a few pow- 
erful traits, and also features — the very 
thing we are explaining ; that is, they 
have extremes alike of face and character. 
Thus it is that every diversity of character 
has its correspondence in both the organic 
texture and physiognomical form. To 
elucidate this subject fully we must explain 
another law, that of 

Homogeneousness, or Oneness of 
Structure. 

Every part of every thing bears an exact 
correspondence to that thing as a whole. 
Thus, tall-bodied trees have long branches 
and leaves, and short-bodied trees, short 
branches and roots ; while creeping vines, 
as the grape, honey-suckle, etc., have long, 
slim roots that run under ground as exten- 
sively as their tops do above. The Rhode 
Island greening is a large, well-propor- 
tioned apple, and its tree is large in trunk, 
limb, leaf, and root, and symmetrical, 
while the gillifleur is conical and its tree 



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191 



long limbed and even high to a peak at 
the top, while flat and broad-topped trees 
bear wide, flat, sunken-eyed apples. 

Very thrifty growing trees, as the Bald- 
win, fall pippin, Bartlet, black Tartarian, 
etc., generally bear large fruit, while small 
fruit, as the seckle pear, lady apple, bell de 
choisa cherry, grow slowly, and have many 
small twigs and branches. Beautiful trees 
that bear red fruit, as the Baldwin, etc., 
have red inner bark ; while yellow and 
green-colored fruits grow on trees the inner 
rind of whose limbs is yellow or green. 
Peach-trees, that bear early peaches, have 
deeply-notched leaves, and the converse of 
late ones ; so that, by these and other 
physiognomical signs, experienced nursery- 
men can tell what a given tree is at first 
sight. 

Features and Limbs. 

In accordance with this law of unity of 
structure, long-handed persons have long 
fingers, toes, arms, legs, bodies, heads, and 
phrenological organs ; while short and 
broad-shouldered persons are short and 
broad-handed and fingered, faced, nosed, 
and limbed, and wide and low bodied. 
When the bones on the hand are prominent, 
all the bones, nose included, are generally 
so, and thus all the other characteristics of 
the hand and any other part of the body. 
Hence, let a hand be thrust through a hole, 
and I will tell the general character of its 
owner, because if it is large or small, hard 
or soft, strong or weak, firm or flabby, 
coarse-grained or fine-textured, even or 
prominent, rough or smooth, small-boned 
or large-boned, or whatever else, his whole 
body is built upon the same principle, 
with which his brain and mentality also 
correspond. Hence small-nosed persons 
have little soul, and large-nosed a great 
deal of character of some kind ; large 



nostrils indicate powerful lungs and body ; 
while narrow nostrils indicate weak ones. 

Flat noses indicate flat minds, and promi- 
nent noses, keen, clear, intellects and 
intense feelings ; blunt noses, obtuse 
minds ; long noses, long heads ; hollow 
noses, tame characters ; finely-formed noses, 
well-proportioned characters, etc. ; and 
thus of every part of the body. And it is 
meet philosophical, accordant with the 
principles of adaptation, that this should 
be thus ; and renders observations on 
character easy and correct. In general, 
too, tall persons have high heads, and are 
more aspiring, aim high, and seek con- 
spicuosity, while short ones have flat 
heads, and seek worldly pleasures. 

Tall persons are rarely mean, though 
often grasping ; but very penurious per- 
sons are often broad built. Small persons 
generally have exquisite mentalities, yet 
less power; while great men are rarely 
dwarfs, though great size often co-exists 
with sluggishness To particularize — 
there are four leading forms which indi- 
cate generic characteristics, all existing in 
every one, yet in different degrees. They 
are these : 

The Broad, or Vital Structure. 

Thus, Indian ponies are broad built or 
thick set, and accordingly very tough, 
hardy, enduring of labor, and tenacious of 
life, yet less active and nimble. Bull- 
dogs, elephants, and all round-favored 
animals and men, also illustrate this law. 

Rotundity, with a moderate-sized head, 
indicates ancestral longevity ; and, unless 
health has been abused, renders its posses- 
sor strong constitutioned, slow to ripen, or 
better as they grow older ; full of animal 
life ; self-caring ; money-making ; fond of 
animal pleasures ; good feeling, yet spirited 
when roused ; impulsive ; more given to 



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HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



physical than mental action ; better adap- 
ted to business than study, and talking 
than writing- ; more eloquent than argu- 
mentative ; wide rather than high or long 
headed ; more glowing than cool in feel- 
ing ; and more enthusiastic than logical or 
deep. 

The MUSCUI.AR, or Powerful 
Temperament, 

Gives projecting features, bones, noses, 
eyebrows, etc, with distinctness of mus- 
cle ; and renders its possessors strong ; 
tough ; thorough-going ; forcible ; easy, 
yet powerful of motion ; perhaps slow, but 
very stout ; strongly marked, if not idio- 
syncratic ; determined ; and impressive, 
both physically and mentally, who stamp 
their character on all they touch. 

The long, or active form, gives activity. 
Thus the gazelle, deer, greyhound, weasel, 
and all long and slim animals, are sprightly, 
light-motioned, agile, quick, nimble, and 
full of action ; and those persons thus 
formed are restless, wide awake, always 
doing, eager, uncommonly quick to think 
and feel, sprightly in conversation, versa- 
tile in talent, flexible, suggestive, abound- 
ing in idea, apt at most things ; exposed 
to consumption, because their action ex- 
ceeds their strength, early ripe, brilliant, 
and liable to premature exhaustion and 
disease, because the mentality predomi- 
nates over the vitality. 

The Sharp and Angular, or Men- 
tal Organization. 

Have ardent desires ; intense feelings ; 
keen susceptibilities ; enjoy and suffer in 
the extreme ; are whole-souled ; sensitive ; 
positive in likes and dislikes ; cordial ; 
enthusiastic ; impulsive ; have their hob- 
bies ; abound in good feeling; yet are 
quick-tempered ; excitable ; liable to ex- 



tremes ; too much creatures of feeling, 
and have a great deal of what we call soul, 
or passion, or warmth of feeling. 

This temperament prevails in brilliant 
writers or speakers, who are too refined 
and sensitive for the mass of mankind. 
They gleam in their career of genius, and 
are liable to burn out their vital powers 
on the altar of nervous excitability, and 
like Pollok, H. K. White, McDonald 
Clarke, or IvCggett, fall victims to prema- 
ture death. Early attention to the physi- 
cal training of children, would spare to 
the world the lives and usefulness of some 
of the brightest stars in the firmament of 
science. 

Combinations of Temperament. 

These shapes, or structures, called tem- 
peraments, however, never exist separately ; 
yet, since all may be strong, or all weak, 
or either predominant or deficient, of 
course their combinations with each other 
and with the Phrenology exert potent 
influences over character, and put the 
observer in possession of both the outline 
and the inner temple of character. 

Breadth of organization gives endur- 
ance, animal power, and animal feelings ; 
and sharpness gives intensity of action, 
along with mind as mind ; and the two 
united, give both that rapidity and clear- 
ness of rnind and that intense glow of 
feeling which makes the orator. 

Intensity of feeling is the leading ele- 
ment of good speaking, for this excites 
feeling, and moves the masses. Wirt had 
this temperament. It predominates in 
Depew, Beveridge, and Bailey, and in 
every man noted for eloquence. 

The sharp and broad, combined with 
smallness of stature, is still more suscep- 
tible, yet lacks strength. Such will be 
extremely happy, or most miserable, or 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



193 



both, and are liable to die young, because 
tbeir action is too great for their endur- 
ance. 

The vital mental, or broad and sharp, 
gives great power of constitution, excel- 
lent lungs and stomach, strongly enjoying 
susceptibilities, intense love of pleasure, a 

yL happy, ease- loving cast of body and mind ; 

* powerful passions, most intense feelings, 
and a story and song-loving disposition, 
and, with large Tune, superior in singing 
powers. This is, par excellence, the sing- 
ing temperament. It also loves poetry 
and eloquence, and often executes them. 

AnimaIv Temperament. 

The Vital Motive Apparatus, or power- 
ful and animal temperament, is indicated 
by the broad and prominent shape, and ren- 
ders its possessor of good size and height, 
if not large ; well-proportioned ; broad- 
shouldered ; muscular ; nose and cheek- 
bones prominent ; visage strongly marked ; 
features often coarse and homely ; coun- 
tenance stern and harsh ; face red ; hair 
red or sandy, if not coarse ; and move- 
ments strong, but often awkward, and sel- 
dom polished. 

He will be best adapted to some labor- 
ious occupation, and enjoy hard work 
more than books or literary pursuits ; have 
great power of feeling, and thus require 
much self government ; possess more talent 
than- he exhibits to others; manifest his 
mind more in his business, in creating 
resources and managing matters, than in 
literary pursuits or mind as such ; and 
improve with age, growing better and more 
intellectual as he grows older ; and manu- 
factures as much animal steam as he can 

^ work off, even if he works all the time 

I hard. 

m Such men ac-complish ; are strong- 
minded ; sensible ; hard to beat: indomit- 
13 



able ; often impulsive ; and strong in pas- 
sion when once aroused ; as well as often 
excellent men. Yet this temperament is 
capable of being depraved, especially if 
the subject drinks. Sailors usually have 
this temperament, because fresh air and 
hard work induce it. 

TalIv and Sum. 

The Motive Mental Temperament, or 
the prominent and sharp in structure, with 
the motive predominent, and the vital 
average or full, is of good size ; rather tall 
or slim ; lean or raw-boned, if not homely 
and awkward ; poor in flesh ; bones and 
features prominent, particularly the nose ; 
a firm and distinct muscle, and a good 
physical organization ; a keen, piercing, 
penetrating eye ; the front upper teeth 
rather large and projecting ; the hands, 
fingers, and limbs all long ; a long face, 
and often a high forehead ; a firm, rapid, 
energetic walk ; and great ease and effici- 
ency of action, accompanied with little 
fatigue. 

He will have strong desires, and much 
energy of character ; will take hold of 
projects with both hands, and drive for- 
ward in spite of obstacles, and hence is 
calculated to accomplish a great deal ; is 
not idle or lazy, but generally prefers to 
wait upon himself ; ^ will move, walk, etc. , 
in a decided, forcible, and straightforward 
manner ; have strong passions ; a tough 
and wiry brain and body ; a strong and 
vigorous mind ; good judgment ; a clear 
head, and talents more solid than brilliant ; 
be long headed, bold ; cool ; calculating ; 
fond of deep reasoning and philosophizing, 
of hard thinking, and the graver and more 
solid branches of learning. 

This is the thorough-going tempera- 
ment ; imparts business powers ; predis- 
poses to hard work, and is indispensable to 



194 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



those who engage in great undertakings, 
or who would rise to eminence. 

One having the mental temperament 
predominent, the motive full or large, and 
the vital average to full, will differ in 
build from the preceding description only 
in his being smaller, taller in proportion, 
and more spare. 

He will have a reflective, thinking, 
planning, discriminating cast of mind ; a 
great fondness for literature, science, and 
intellectual pursuits of the deeper, graver 
kind ; be inclined to choose a professional 
or mental occupation ; to exercise his 
body much, but his mind more ; will have 
a high forehead ; good moral faculties ; 
and the brain developed more from the 
root of the nose, over to Philoprogenitive- 
ness, than around the ears. 

In character, also, the moral and intel- 
lectual faculties will predominate. This 
temperament is seldom connected with 
depravity, but generally with talent, and a 
manifestation, not only of superior talents, 
but of the solid metaphysical, reasoning, 
investigating intellect ; a fondness for 
natural philosophy, the natural sciences, 
etc. It is also the temperament for author- 
ship and clear-headed, labored produc- 
tions. 

The Long and Sharp combine the high- 
est order of action and energy with 
promptness, clearness, and untiring assid- 
uity, and considerable power. Such are 
best fitted for some light, active business, 
requiring more brightness and quickness 
than power, such as merchants. 

The Organs that Accompany Given 
Temperaments. 

Not only do certain outlines of charac- 
ter and drifts of talent go along with cer- 
tian kinds of organizations, but certain 
phrenological developments accompany 



certain temperaments. As the pepper 
secretes the smarting, the sugar-cane sweet- 
ness, castor-beans and v/hales, oil, etc., 
throughout nature, so certain tempera- 
ments secrete more brain than others ; and 
some, brain in particular regions of the 
head ; and others, brain in other regions 
of the head — but all form most of those 
organs best adapted to carry out those 
characteristics already shown to accom- 
pany the several temperaments. 

Thus, the vital or animal temperament 
secretes brain in the neighborhood of the 
ears, so that along with breadth of body 
goes that width of head which gives that 
full development of the animal organs 
which is required by the animal tempera- 
ment. Thus, breadth of form, width of 
head, and animality of temperament and 
character, all go together. 

Prominence of organization, or the 
motive or powerful temperament, gives 
force of character, and secretes brain in 
the crown of the head, and over the eyes, 
along with Combativeness, Destructive- 
ness. Appetite, and Acquisitiveness. These 
are the very organs required by this tem- 
perament ; for they complete that force 
which . embodies the leading element of 
this organization. I never saw this tem- 
perament unaccompanied with prodigious 
Firmness, and great Combativeness and 
perceptives. 

The Mental Vital. 

The finest and most exquisite organiza- 
tion is that which unites the mental in 
predominance with the animal, the promi- 
nent retiring. In this case, the person is 
rather short, the form light, the face and 
person full, and the hair brown or auburn, 
or between the two. 

It will sometimes be found in men, but 
much oftener in women. It is the feeling, 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



195 



sentimental, exalted, angelic temperament ; 
and always imparts purity, sweetness, de- 
votion, exquisiteness, susceptibility, love- 
liness, and great moral worth. 

The phrenological organs which accom- 
pany this temperament, are smaller Firm- 
ness, deficient Self-Esteem, large or very 
large Approbativeness, smaller Destruc- 
tiveness, Appetite not large, Adhesiveness 
and Philoprogenitiveness very large, 
Amativeness fair; the head wide, not 
directly round the ears, but at the upper 
part of the sides, including Ideality, Mirth- 
fulness, Sublimity, and Cautiousness ; and 
a fine top head, rising at Benevolence 
quite as much as at Firmness, and being 
wide on the top, whereas the motive tem- 
perament gives perhaps a ridge in the 
middle of the head, but not breadth on top, 
and leaves the head much higher at the 
back part than at Benevolence. 

Benevolence, however, often accom- 
panies the animal temperament, and espe- 
cially that quiet goodness which grants 
favors because the donor is too pliable, or 
too easy, to refuse them. But for tender- 
ness of sympathy, and whole-souled inter- 
est for mankind, no temperament is equal 
to the vital mental. The motive mental, 
however, is the one most common in re- 
formers. The reason is this. The men- 
tality imparted by this temperament sees 
the miseries of mankind, and weeps over 
them ; and the force of character imparted 
by it pushes vigorously plans for their 
amelioration. 

Danger of Overwork. 

Greater breadth than sharpness, or more 
vitality than action, dullness of feeling, 
and inertness, while too great action for 
strength, wears out its possessor prema- 
turely. More prominence than sharpness 
leaves talents latent, or undeveloped, while 



predominant sharpness and breadth, give 
such exquisite sensibilities, as that many 
things harrow up all the finer sensibilities 
of keen-feeling souls. 

But when all are powerful and equally 
balanced, they combine all the conditions 
of power, activity, and susceptibility ; 
allows neither icy coldness, nor passion's 
burning heat, but unite cool judgment, 
intense but well-governed feelings, great 
force of both character and intellect, and 
perfect consistency and discretion with 
extraordinary energy ; sound common 
sense, and far seeing sagacity, with bril- 
liancy; and bestow the highest order of 
Physiology and Phrenology. Such an 
organization and character were those of 
Washington. 

Besides these prominent signs of char- 
acter, there are many others, among which. 

The lyAUGH Corresponds With the 
Character. 

Those who laugh very heartily, have 
much cordiality and whole-souledness of 
character, except that those who laugh 
heartily at trifles, have much feeling, yet 
little sense. Those whose giggles are 
rapid, but light, have much intensity of 
feeling, yet lack power ; whereas those 
who combine rapidity with force in laugh- 
ing, combine them in character. 

One of the greatest workers I ever 
employed, I hired just because he laughed 
heartily, and he worked just as he laughed. 
But a colored domestic who laughed very 
rapidly, but lightly, took a great many 
steps to do almost nothing, and though 
she worked fast, accomplished little. 
Vulgar persons always laugh vulgarly, 
and refined persons show refinement in 
their laugh. Those who ha, ha, right 
out, unreservedly, have no cunning, 
and are open-hearted in every thing ; 



196 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



while those who suppress laughter, and 
tr)' to control their countenances in it, are 
more or less secretive. 

Those who laugh with their mouth 
closed, are non-committal ; while those 
who throw it wide open, are unguarded 
and unequivocal in character. Those who, 
suppressing laughter for a while, burst 
forth volcano-like, have strong character- 
istics, but are well governed, yet violent 
when they give way to their feelings. 
Then there is the intellectual laugh, the 
love laugh, the horse laugh, the Philopro- 
genitive laugh, the friendly laugh, and 
many other kinds of laugh, each indica- 
tive of corresponding mental develop- 
ments. 

The Walk as Indicating Character. 

As already shown, texture corresponds 
to character, and motion to texture,' and 
therefore to character. Those whose mo- 
tions are awkward, yet ea^y, possess much 
efficiency and positiveness of character, 
yet lack polish ; and just in proportion as 
they become refined in mind, will their 
mode of carriage be correspondingly im- 
proved. A short and quick step, indicates 
a brisk and active, but rather contracted 
mind, whereas those who take long steps, 
generally have long heads ; yet if their 
step be slow, they will make compara- 
tively little progress, while those whose 
step is long and quick, will accomplish 
proportionately much, and pass most of 
their competitors on the highway of life. 

Their heads and plans, too, will partake 
of the same far-reaching character evinced 
in their carriage. Those who sluff or 
drag their heels, drag and drawl in every 
thing ; while those who walk with a 
springing, bounding step, abound in men- 
tal snap and spring. Those whose walk 
is mincing, afifected, and artificial, rarely. 



if ever, accomplish much ; whereas those 
who walk carelessly, that is, naturally, are 
just what they appear to be, and put on 
nothing for outside show. Those who, in 
walking, roll from side to side, lack 
directness of character, and side every 
way, according to circumstances ; whereas, 
those who take a bee , line — that is, whose 
body moves neither to the right nor left, 
but straight forward — have a correspond- 
ing directness of purpose, and oneness of 
character. 

Irregular Motions. 

Those also who teeter up and down 
when they walk, rising an inch or two 
every step, will have many corresponding 
ups and downs in life, because of their 
irregularity of character and feeling. 
Those, too, who make a great ado in 
walking, will make much needless parade 
in every thing else, and hence spend a 
great amount of useless steam in all they 
undertake, yet accomplish little ; whereas 
those who walk easily, or expend little 
strength in walking, will accomplish 
great results with a little strength, both 
mentally and physically. 

In short, every individual has his own 
peculiar mode of moving, which exactly 
accords with his mental character ; so that, 
as far as you can see such modes, you can 
decipher such outlines of character. 

To dancing, these principles apply 
equally. Dr. Wieting, the celebrated lec- 
turer on physiology, once asked where he 
could find something on the temperaments, 
and was answered, " Nowhere ; but if I can 
ever see you among men, I will give you 
a practical lesson upon it." Accordingly, 
afterward, chance threw us together in 
a hotel, in which was a dancing-school 
that evening. 

Insisting on the fulfillment of our 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



197 



promise, we accompanied him into the 
dancing saloon, and pointed out, first, a 
small, delicately moulded, fine skinned, 
pocket- Venus, whose motions were light, 
easy, waving, and rather characterless, 
who put forth but little strength in danc- 
ing. We remarked — " She is very exqui- 
site in feelings, but rather light in the 
upper story, lacking sense, thought, and 
strength of mind." 

Of a large, raw-boned, bouncing Betty, 
who threw herself far up, and came down 
good and solid, when she danced, we 
remarked — ^' She is one of your strong, 
powerful, determined characters, well 
suited to do up rough work, but utterly 
destitute of polish, though possessed of 
great force." Others came in for their 
share of criticism — some being all dandy, 
others all business, yet none all intellect. 

The Mode of Shaking Hands. 

This also expresses character. Those 
who give a tame and loose hand, and shake 
lightly, have a cold, if not heartless and 
selfish disposition, rarely sacrificing much 
for others — probably conservatives, and 
lack warmth of soul. But those who 
grasp firmly, and shake heartily, have a 
corresponding whole-souledness of char- 
acter, are hospitable, and will sacrifice 
business to friends ; while those who bow 
low when they shake hands, add deference 
to friendship, and are easily led, for good 
or bad, by friends. 

Mouth and Eyes Peculiarly Expres- 
sive OF Character. 

Every moutt differs from every other, 
and indicates a coincident character. Large 
mouths express a corresponding quantity 
of mentality, while small ones indicate a 
lesser amount of mentality. A coarsely 
formed mouth indicates power of character, 



while one finely formed indicates exquisite 
susceptibilities. Hence small, delicately- 
formed mouths, indicate only common 
minds, but very fine feelings, with much 
perfection of character. Whenever the 
muscles about the mouth are distinct, the 
character is correspondingly positive, and 
the reverse. Those who open their mouths 
wide and frequently, thereby evince an 
open soul, while closed mouths, unless to 
hide deformed teeth, are proportionately 
secretive. 

Intonations as Expressive of 
Character. 

Whatever makes a noise, from the deaf- 
ening roar of sea, cataract, and whirlwind's 
mighty crash, through all forms of animal 
life, to the sweet and gentle voice of 
woman, makes a sound which agrees per- 
fectly with its character. Thus the terrific 
roar of the lion, and the soft cooing of the 
dove, correspond exactly with their respec- 
tive dispositions ; while the rough antl 
powerful bellow of the bull, the fierce yell 
of the tiger, the coarse guttural moan of 
the hyena, and the swinish grunt, the 
sweet warblings of birds, in contrast with 
the raven's croak, and owl's hoot, each 
corresponds perfectly with their respective 
characteristics. 

And this law holds equally true of man 
— that the human intonations are as supe- 
rior to brutal as human character exceeds 
animal. Accordingly, the peculiarities of 
every human being are expressed in his 
voice, and mode of speaking. Coarse- 
grained and powerfully animal organiza- 
tions have a coarse, harsh, and grating 
voice, while in exact proportion as persons 
become refined, and elevated mentally, 
will their tones of voice become corre- 
spondingly refined and perfected. 

We little realize how much of character 



198 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



we infer from this source. Thus, some 
female friends are visiting me transiently. 
A male friend, staying with me, enters the 
room, is seen by my female company, and 
his walk, dress, manners, etc., closely 
scrutinized, yet says nothing, and retires, 
leaving a comparatively indistinct impres- 
sion as to his character upon my female 
visitors, whereas, if he simply said }es or 
no, the mere sound of his voice communi- 
cates to their minds most of his character, 
and serves to fix distinctly upon their 
minds clear and correct general ideas of his 
mentality. 

The barbarous races use the guttural 
sounds more than the civilized. Thus In- 
dians talk more down the throat than 
white men, and thus of those men who are 
lower or higher in the human scale. Those 
whose voices are clear and distinct have 
clear minds, while those who only half 
form their words, or are heard indistinctly, 
say by deaf persons, are mentally obtuse, 
or more than ordinarily dull. 

Signs of Deep Feeling. 

Those who have sharp, shrill intonations 
have correspondingly intense feelings, and 
equal sharpness both of anger and kind- 
ness, as is exemplified by every scold in 
the world ; whereas those with smooth, or 
sweet voices have corresponding evenness 
and goodness of character. Yet contradic- 
tory as it may seem, these same persons 
not unfrequently combine both sharpness 
and softness of voice, and such always 
combine them in character. 

There is also the intellectual, the moral, 
the animal, the selfish, the benignant, the 
mirthful, the devout, the love, and many 
other intonations, each accompanying cor- 
responding peculiarites of characters. In 
short, every individual is compelled, by 
every word he utters, to manifest some- 



thing of his true character — a sign of char- 
acter as diversified as it is correct. 

Hair, Skin, Etc., as Indicating 
Character. 

Coarseness of texture indicates a coarse- 
ness of function ; while a fine organization 
indicates a corresponding fineness of men- 
tality. And since when one part is coarse 
or fine, all are equally so, so, therefore, 
coarseness of skin and hair indicate a 
coarse-grained brain, and coarseness of 
mind ; yet since coarseness indicates power, 
such persons usually possess a great deal of 
character of some kind. Hence dark- 
skinned nations are behind light-haired in 
all the improvements of the age, and the 
higher finer manifestations of humanity. 

So, too, dark-haired persons, like Web- 
ster, are frequently possessed of great 
power, yet lack the finer and more delicate 
shadings of sensibility and purity. Coarse 
black hair and skin, or coarse red hair and 
face, indicate powerful animal propensities, 
together with corresponding strength of 
character ; while fine and light hair indi- 
cate quick susceptibilities, together with 
purity, refinement, and good taste. 

Fine dark or brown hair, indicates a 
combination of exquisite susceptibilities 
with great strength of character ; while 
auburn-colored hair, and a florid counten- 
ance, indicate the highest order of ex- 
quisiteness and intensity of feeling, yet 
with corresponding purity of character 
and love of virtue, together with the high- 
est susceptibilities of enjoyment and suf- 
fering. And the intermediate colors and 
textures indicate intermediate mentalities. 

Coarse-haired persons should never turn 
dentists or clerks, but should seek some 
out-door employment ; and would be bet- 
ter contented with rough, hard work than 
light or sedentary occupations, although 



HOW TO READ CIJARACTBR. 



199 



mental and sprightly occupations would 
serve to refine and improve them ; while 
dark and fine-haired persons may choose 
purely intellectual occupations, and be- 
come lecturers or writers with fair pros- 
pects of success. Red-haired persons 
should seek out-door employment, for 
they require a great amount of air and 
exercise ; while those who have light, fine 
hair, should choose occupations involving 
taste and mental acumen, yet take bodily 
exercise enough to tone and vigorate their 
system. 

Generally, whenever skin, hair, or fea- 
tures are fine or coarse, the others are 
equally so. Yet some inherit fineness 
from one parent, and coarseness from the 
other, while the color of the eye generally 
corresponds with that of the skin, and ex- 
presses character. Light eyes indicate 
warmth of feeling, and dark eyes power. 

The mere expression of eye conveys 
precise ideas of the existing and predomi- 
nant states of the mentality and physi- 
ology. As long as the constitution re- 
mains unimpaired, the eye is clear and 
bright, but becomes languid and soulless 
in proportion as the brain has been enfee- 
bled. Wild, erratic persons, have a half- 
crazed expression of eye, while calmness, 
benignancy, intelligence, purity, sweet- 
ness, love, lasciviousness, anger, and all 
the other mental affections, express them- 
selves quite as distinctly in the eye as 
voice, or any other mode. 

Physiognomy. 

Jackson Davis well remarked that, in 
the spirit land, conversation is carried on 
mainly, not by words, but by expression 
of countenance — that spirits look their 
thoughts and motions, rather than talk 
them. Certain it is that the countenance 
discloses a greater amount of thought and 



feeling, together with their nicer shades 
and phases, than words can possibly com- 
municate. Whether we will or no, we 
cannot help revealing the innermost re- 
cesses of our souls in our faces. By what 
means is this effected ? Clairvoyants say 
by magnetic centres, called poles ; each 
physical and mental organ has its pole 
stationed in a given part of the face, so 
that, when such organ becomes active, it 
influences such poles, and contracts facial 
muscles, which express the corresponding 
emotions. 

Vital Organs. 

That there exists an intimate relation 
between the stomach and one part of the 
face, the lungs and another, etc., is proved 
by the fact that consumptive patients 
always have a hectic flush on the cheek, 
just externally from the lower portion of 
the nose, while inactive lungs cause pale- 
ness, and healthy ones give the rosy 
cheek ; and that dyspeptic patients are 
always lank and thin opposite the double 
teeth, while those whose digestion is good, 
are full between the corners of the mouth 
and lower portion of the ears. 

Since, therefore, some of the states of 
some of the internal organs express them- 
selves in the face, of course every organ 
of the body must do the same — the mag- 
netic pole of the heart beginning in the 
chin. Those whose circulation is vigor- 
ous, have broad and rather prominent 
chins ; while those who are small and nar- 
row-chinned have feeble hearts ; and thus 
all the other internal organs have their 
magnetic poles in various parts of the face. 

Firmness is in the upper lip, midway 
between its edge and the nose giving 
length, prominence and a compression of 
the upper lip. Hence, when we would 
exhort to determined perseverance, we 



200 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



say, "Keep a stiff upper lip." Self-es- 
teem has its pole exterually from that of 
firmness, and between the outer portion of 
the nose and the mouth, causing a full- 
ness, as if a quid of tobacco were under 
the upper lip. The affections were de- | 
scribed as having their poles in the edges j 
of the lips, and hence the philosophy of 
kissing. 

The pole of IMirthfulness is located exter- 
nally, and above the outer corners of the 
mouth, and hence the drawing up of these 
corners in laughter. Approbativenesshas its 
pole directly outward from these corners, 
and hence the approbative laugh does not 
turn thCiCorners of the mouth upward, but 
draws them straight back, or outwardly. 
Like locations were assigned to nearly all 
the other organs. That physiognomy has 
its science — that fixed and absolute rela- 
tions between the phrenological organs 
and given portions of the face is not a mat- 
ter of question. 

Their Language. 

The natural language of the organs, as 
seen in the attitudes at the head, indicate 
not only the presence of large and active 
organs, but also the signs of their defi- 
ciency. Self- Esteem throws the head up- 
ward and backward toward the seat of its 
organ ; Approbativeness, back and to- 
ward the side ; Philoprogenitiveness, di- 
rectly back, but not upward; Firmness 
draws the head up in a stiff*, perpendicular 
position ; Individuality thrusts the head 
forward toward its organ, and gives the 
man a staring, gazing aspect ; small Self- 
Esteem lets the head droop forward. 

Man was made both to disclose his own 
character, and to read that of others. 
Than this form of knowledge none is 
more inviting or useful. Hence God has 
caused the inherent character of every 



living being and thing to gush out through 
every organ of the body, and every avenue 
of the soul ; and also created in both brute 
and man a character-reading faculty, to 
take intuitive cognizance of the mental 
operations. Nor will she let any one lie, 
any more than lie herself, but compels all 
to carry the flag of their character at their 
mast-heads, ^so that all acquainted with 
the signs may see and read. 

If we attempt description, the very 
effort convicts us. If all nature's signs of 
character were fully understood, all could 
read not only all the main characters of all 
they see, but even most thoughts and feel- 
ings passing in the mind for the time being 
— a gift worth more than millions. 

Redness and Paleness of Face. 

Thus far our remarks have appertained 
to the constant colors of the face, yet 
those colors are often diversified or changed 
for the time being. 

Thus, at one time, the whole counten- 
ance will be pale, at another, very red; 
each of which indicates the existing states 
of body and mind. Or thus, when the 
system is in a perfectly healthy state, the 
whole face will be suffused with the glow 
of health and beauty, and have a red, but 
never an inflamed aspect ; yet any perman- 
ent injury of health, which prostrates tlie 
bodily energies, will change this florid 
complexion into dullness of countenance, 
indicating that but little blood comes to 
the surface or flows to the head, and a 
corresponding stagnation of the physical 
and mental powers. 

Yet, after a time, this dullness frequently 
gives way to a fiery^ redness ; not the florid - 
ness of health, but the redness of inflam- 
mation and false excitement, which indi- 
cates a corresponding depreciation of the 
mental faculties.. 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



201 



Very red-faced persons, so far from being 
the most healthy, are frequently the most 
diseased, and -are correspondingly more 
animal and sensual in character ; because 
physiological inflammation irritates the 
propensities more, relatively, than the 
moral and intellectual faculties, though it 
may, for the time being, increase the latter 
also. 

When the moral and the intellectual 
faculties greatly predominate over the 
animal, such redness of face may not cause 
coarse animality, because while it heightens 
the animal nature, it also increases the 
intellectual and moral, which, being the 
larger, hold them in check, but when the 
animal about equals the moral and intel- 
lectual, this inflammation evinces a greater 
increase of animality than intellectuality 
and morality. 

Gross sensualists, and depraved sinners, 
generally have a fiery, red countenance. 
Stand aloof from them, for their passions 
are all on fire, ready to ignite and explode 
on provocations so slight that a healthy 
physiology would scarcely notice them. 
This point can hardly be more fully intel- 
ligible ; but let readers note the difference 
between a healthy floridness of face, and 
the fiery redness of drunkards, debauchees, 
meat-eaters, etc. Nor does an inflamed 
physiology merely increase the animal 
nature, but gives a far more depraved and 
sensual cast to it, thus doubly increasing 
the tendency to depravity. 

Health and Disease as Affecting 
Mentality. 

Health and disease affects the mind as 
much as body. Virtue, goodness, etc., are 
only the healthy, or normal exercise of 
our various faculties, while depravity and 
sin are only the sickly exercise of these 
same organs. Holiness and moral excel- 



lence, as well as badness, depend far less 
upon the relative size of the phrenological 
organs, than upon their direction or tone 
and character, and this depends upon the 
state of the body. 

Or thus, a healthy physiology tends to 
produce a healthy action of the phrenolog. 
ical organs, which is virtue and happiness 
while an unhealthy physiology produces 
that sickly exercise of the mental facul- 
ties, especially of the animal propensities, 
which constitutes depravity and produces 
misery. Hence these phrenologists who 
look exclusively to the predominent size 
of the animal organs, for vicious mani- 
festations, and regard their average size as 
indicative of virtue, have this great lesson 
to learn, that health of body produces 
health of mind and purity of feelings, 
while all forms of bodily disease, in the 
very nature of things, tend to corrupt the 
feelings and deprave the soul. 

Modified by Health. 

While, therefore, phrenologists should 
scrutinize the size of organs closely, they 
should observe the state of health much 
more minutely, for most of their errors are 
explainable on this ground: that the organs 
described produce vicious inclinations, not 
because they were so large, but because 
they were physically sick, and hence 
take on a morally deformed mode of 
action. 

The brain is subdivided into two hemis- 
pheres, the right and left, by the falciform 
process of the dura matter, a membrane 
which dips down one to two inches into 
the brain, and runs from the root of the 
nose over to the nape of the neck. This 
arrangernent renders all the phrenological 
oirgans double. Thus, as there are two eyes, 
ears, etc., that when one is diseased, the 
other can carry forward the function, so 



202 



HOW TO READ CHARACTER. 



there are two lobes to each phrenological 
organ, one on each side. 

The brain is divided thus : the feelings 
occupy that portion commonly covered by 
the hair, while the forehead is occupied 
by the intellectual organs. These greater 
divisions are subdivided into the animal 
brain, located between and around the 
ears ; the aspiring faculties, which occupy 
the crown of the head ; the moral and re- 
ligious sentiments, which occupy the top ; 
the physico-perceptives, located over the 
eyes ; and the reflectives, in the upper por- 
tion of the forehead. The predominence 
of these respective groups produces both 
particular shapes, and corresponding traits 
of character. 

Social Affections. 

Thus, when the head projects far back 
behind the ears, hanging over and down- 
ward in the occipital region, it indicates 
very strong domestic ties and social affec- 
tions, a love of home, its relations and en- 
dearments, and a corresponding high capa- 
city of being happy in the family, and of 
making the family happy. Ver}^ wide and 
round heads, on the contrary, indicate 
strong animal and selfish propensities, 
while thin, narrow heads, indicate a cor- 
responding want of selfishness and ani- 
mality. 

A head projecting far up at the crown, 
indicates an aspiring, self-elevating dispo- 
sion, proudness of character, and a desire 



to be and to do something great ; while 
the flattened crown indicates a want of am- 
bition, energy and aspiration. A head 
high, long, and wide upon the top, but 
narrow between the ears, indicates Causal- 
ity, moral virtue, much practical goodness 
and a corresponding elevation of character ; 
while a low or narrow top head indicates a 
corresponding deficiency of these humane 
and religious susceptibilities. 

Meaning of Wide Head. 

A head wide at the upper part of the 
temples, indicates a corresponding desire 
for personal perfection, together with a 
love of the beautiful and refined, while 
narrowness in this region evinces a want 
of taste, with much coarseness of feeling. 
Fullness over the eyes indicates excellent 
practical judgment of matters and things 
appertaining to property, science and na- 
ture in general ; while narrow, straight 
eyebrows, indicate poor practical judgment 
of matter, its quality, relations and uses. 

Fullness from the root of the nose up- 
ward, indicates great practical talent, love 
of knowledge, desire to see, and ability to 
do to advantage, together with sprightli- 
ness of mind ; while a hollow in the mid- 
dle of the forehead indicates want of mem- 
ory and inability to show off to advantage. 
A bold, high forehead, indicates strong 
reasoning capabilities, while a retiring 
forehead indicates less soundness, but more 
availability of talent. 



Speeches of Great Warriors 

CONTAINING THE 

ADDRESSES AND EXTRACTS FROM IMPUTED SPEECHES OF FAMOUS 

GENERALS AND NOTED MARTIAL HEROES, DELIVERED IN 

THE CAMP, ON THE EVE OF BATTLE, AND BEFORE 

THE PUBLIC ON STIRRING OCCASIONS 

RECALLING HISTORIC MILITARY EVENTS FROM THE DAYS OF ANCIENT 

GREECE TO RECENT TIMES 



REPLY OF ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OF AGAMEMNON, SOLICITING A 
RECONCILIATION.— Cowper's ''I/omer." 

Agamemnon had taken the beautiful captive maiden whom Achilles had made his wife, thus incensing 
the latter. To appease Achilles, Agamemnon proffered him his daughter in marriage, but Achilles spurned 
the offer. 



I MUST with plainness speak my fixed re- 
solve ; 
For I abhor the man,— not more the gates 
Of hell itself !— whose words belie his 
heart. 
So shall not mine ! My judgment undisguised 
Is this : that neither Agamemnon me 
^ior all the Greeks shall move ! For ceaseless 

toil 
Wins here no thanks ; one recompense awaits 
The sedentary and the most alert ! 
The brave and base in equal honor stand, — 
And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. 
Ij after all my labors, who exposed 
My life continual in the field, have earned 
No very sumptuous prize ! As the poor bird 
Gives to her unfledged brood, a morsel gained 
After long search, though wanting it herself. 
So I have worn out many sleepless nights, 
And waded deep through many a bloody day 



In battle for their wives. I have destroyed 
Twelve cities with my fleet ; and twelve, save 

one. 
On foot contending, in the fields of Troy. 
From all these cities precious spoil I took 
Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand 
Gave all the treasure. He within his ships 
Abode the while, and, having all received, 
Little distributed, and. much retained. 
He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs 
A portion, and they keep it. Me alone. 
Of all the Grecian host, hath he despoiled ! 
My bride, my soul's delight, is in his hands ! 
Tell him my reply : 

And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks 
May indignation feel like me, if, armed 
Always in imprudence, he seek to wrong 
Them also. Let him not henceforth presume- *• 
Canine and hard in aspect though he be — 
To look me in the face. I will not share 

203 



204 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



His counsels, neither will I aid his works. 
Let it suthce him, that he wronged me once, — 
Deceived me once ; — henceforth his glozing arts 
Are lost on me ! But, let him rot in peace. 
Crazed as he is, and, by the stroke of Jove, 
Infatuate ! I detest his gifts ! — and him 
So honor as the thing which most I scorn ! 
And would he give nie twenty times the worth 
Of this his offer, — ^all the treasured heaps 
Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, 
All that Orchomenos within her walls. 
And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes 



Receives, — the city with a hundred gates. 
Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, * 
And would he give me riches as the sands, 
And as the dust of earth, — no gifts from him 
Should soothe me, till my soul were first avengiid 
For all the offensive license of his tongue. 
I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, — 
Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms 
With golden Venus, — had she all the skill 
Of blue -eyed Pallas, — even so endowed. 
She were no bride for me ! 
Bear ye mine answer back. 



HECTOR'S REBUKE TO POLYDAMUS.-Cbzf/^r'j ''Homer:' 



Hector was the son of King Priam. 

POLYDAMAS to dauntless Hector spake : 
Ofttimes in council. Hector, thou art 
wont 
To censure mc, although advising well ; 
Yet hear my best opinion once again. 
Proceed we not in our attempt against 
The Grecian fleet. The omens we have seen 
All urge against it. When the eagle flew. 
Clutching the spotted snake, then dropping it 
Into the open space between the hosts, 
Troy's host was on the left. Was this propitious? 
No. Many a Trojan shall we leave behind. 
Slain by the Grecians in their fleet's defence. 
An augur skilled in omens would expound 
This omen thus, and faith would win from all. 
To whom dark-louring Hector thus replied : 
Polydamus ! I like not thy advice ; 
Thou couldst have framed far better ; but if this 
Be thy deliberate judgment, then the Gods 
Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth, 

ALEXANDER THE GREAT 

AT length, fellow-soldiers, we enter on 
the last of our battles. How many 
regions have we traversed, looking 
forward to the victory which we 
must this day achieve ! We have crossed the 
Gran'i-cus, we have climbed the ridges of 
Cilicia, we have passed through Syria and 
Egypt ; our very entrance into a country has 
been the signal of victory ; what more irresist- 



He was killed in battle by Achilles. 

Who bidd'st me disregard the Thunderer's firm 
Assurance to myself announced, and make 
The wild inhabitants of air my guides. 
Which I alike despise, speed they their course 
With right-hand flight toward the ruddy East, 
Or leftward down into the shades of eve ! 
Consider we the will of Jove alone, 
Sovereign of Heaven and Earth. Omens abound, 
But the best omen is oicr countrf s cause :^ 
Wherefore should fiery war thy soul alarm ? 
For were we slaughtered, one and all, around 
The fleet of Greece, thou need'st not fear tc 

die. 
Whose courage never will thy flight retard. 
But if thou shrink thyself, or by smooth speech 
Seduce one other from a soldier's part. 
Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest ! 

* The nobleness of this reply may have been par- 
alleled, but not surpassed, by patriots of succeeding 
times. 

TO HIS yi^W,—Quintus Cur tins. 

ible incitements could we have to confidence 
and glory? The Perisian fugitives, overtaken, 
rally and attempt to make head against us, 
simply because they cannot fly. This is the 
third day that they have stood under their loads 
of armor, fixed in one position, scarcely surviv- 
ing their terrors. 

What stronger i)roof of their desperate con- 
dition could they give than in burning their 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MlLITAkV LEADERS. 



205 



cities, and laying waste their fields; thus 
acknowledging, in act, that whatever they can- 
not destroy must fall into our hands ? We hear 
of unknown tribes that have joined them,— 
tribes with barbarous names. Be sure, soldiers, 
their names are the most formidable part of 
them. . But when were brave men scared by 
names ? And how does it affect the fate of this 
contest to know who are Scythians, or who 
Cadusians ? Obscurity is the lot of the ignoble. 
Heroes do not dwell in oblivion. These unwar- 
like hordes, dragged from their dens and caves, 
bring into the field — their alarming names / 
Well, even in names we can beat them ; for to 
such eminence in manly virtue have you arrived, 
that there is not a spot in the whole earth where 
the name of the Macedonians is not known and 
respected. 

Observe the wretched appointments of these 

barbarians. Some have no weapon but a dart ; 

others poise stones in a sling ; few have proper 

and efficient arms. There stands the larger mo I? 

-here stands the stronger army ! 



Soldiers ! Intrepid sons of Macedonia! Your 
courage has been tried in many a well-fought 
field ; nor do I ask you now to show once more 
that bravery which could defy all odds, unless 
you see me^ Alexander, your general, fighting to 
the last gasp, in front of the banners ! My 
scars I shall count as ornaments. What spoils 
we seize shall be bestowed in honoring and 
enriching yourselves. Did Alexander ever stint 
you of your share ? 

Thus much to the brave. Should there be 
others here, — very few, if any, they must be, — 
let them consider, that, having advanced thus 
far, it is impossible for us to retreat. We must 
conquer — or we must perish. There is no alter- 
native. Such is the extent of country to be 
retraced, so multiplied and difficult are the 
rivers and mountains obstructing return, so hos- 
tile the tribes in our way, that we can cut a pas- 
sage to our native land and our household gods 
no otherwise than by the sword. Forward, then, 
Macedonians — forward to the field, and victory 
shall secure at once your glory and your safety ! 



DARIUS TO W\S KYmX.—Quintus CuHius. 



THIS day, O soldiers, will terminate or 
establish the largest empire that any 
age has known. But recently lords of 
all the climes from the Hellespont to 
the ocean, we have now to fight, not for glory, 
but for safety, and, for what we prize above safety 
— liberty ! If we cannot make a stand here^ no 
place of retreat remains. By continued arma- 
ments everything in our rear is exhausted. The 
cities are deserted. The very fields are aban- 
doned by their cultivators. Our wives and chil- 
dren, who have followed the levies, are but so 
many spoils prepared for the enemy, unless we 
interpose our bodies as a rampart before the dear- 
est objects and pledges of affection. 

On my part, I have collected an army such as 
the largest plain can hardly contain. I have 
chosen a field of battle where our whole line can 
act. The rest depends on yourselves. Dare to 
conquer, and you will conquer ! We hear of 
the enemy'* reputation. Reputation ! — as if 



that were a weapon which brave men had not 
learnt to despise ! These spacious plains expose 
the poverty of your foe — a poverty which the 
Cilician mountains concealed. We perceive thin 
ranks, wire-drawn wings, a centre quite drained ; 
while their last line faces to the rear, in readi- 
ness to fly. 

If we but conquer now, all the victories of the 
war will be transferred to us. The enemy have 
no place of refuge ; here the Euphrates bars them 
in, and there the Tigris. A heavy booty impedes 
their operations. Entangled in the spoils they 
have won from us, they may be easily over- 
whelmed ; and thus the means of our triumph 
will be its reward. 

Does a name startle you? — the name of Alex- 
ander ? Let girls and cowards stand in awe of 
it ! Imprudent, reckless, absurd, our own irreso- 
lution, and not his courage, has been the cause 
of his successes hitherto. Nothing that is not 
built on moderation can last. His prosperity 



2nfi 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. . 



has reached its height, and punishment now 
awaits his presumption. 

By our guardian deities, O soldiers ! by the 
eternal fire carried before us on our altars ; by 
the dazzling sun which rises within the limits of 
my dominions ; by the immortal memory of 
Cyrus, who transferred the empire from the 
Medes and Lydians to the Persians ; by your 

ADDRESS OF NICIAS TO HIS TROOPS 

ATHENIANS, I must remind you that 
you left behind you no more such ships 
in your docks, nor so fine a body of 
heavy- armed troops ; and that if any- 
thing else befall you but victory, your enemies 
here will immediately sail thither, and those of 
our countrymen who are left behind there will be 
unable to defend themselves against both their 
opi)onents on the spot and those who will join 
them ; and thus, at the same time, you who are 
here will be at the mercy of the Syracusans (and 
you know with what feelings you came against 
them), and those who are there at home at that 



hopes of freedom and your scorn of oppres- 
sion, I con-jure you to vindicate your name and 
nation from the last disgrace ! In your own 
right hand you carry liberty, power, and every 
future reliance. Whoever despises death, es- 
capes it. Follow me, then, — for home and 
country, family '^nd freedom, — follow me to 
the field! 

— {From '^ The Peloponnesia7i War.'") — Thucydides. 

of the Lacedaemonians. Being brought then to 
this one struggle for both parties, fight bravely 
now, if you ever did ; and reflect, both individ- 
ually and collectively, thai those of you who will 
now be on board your ships represent both the 
army and the navy of the Athenians, all that is 
left of your country, and the great name of 
Athens : in behalf of which, whatever be the 
point in which one man excels another, either 
in science or courage, on no other occasion 
could he better display it, so as both to benefit 
himself and to contribute to the preservation 
of all. 



BRUTUS OVER THE DEAD 

YOU are amazed, O Romans ! even amid 
the general horror at Lucretia's death, 
that Brutus, whom you have known 
hitherto only as the fool, should all at 
once assume the language and bearing of a man. 
Did not the Sibyl say, a fool should set Rome 
free? I am that fool ! Brutus bids Rome be free ! 
If he has played the fool, it was to seize the wise 
man's opportunity. Here he throws off the mask 
of madness. 'Tis Lucius Junius now, your coun- 
tryman, who calls upon you, by this innocent 
blood, to swear eternal vengeance against kings ! 
Ij3ok, Romans ! turn your eyes on this sad 
spectacle ! — the daughter of Lucretius, CoUa- 
tlnus' wife ! By her own hand she died ! See 
there a noble lady, whom the ruffian lust of a 
Tarquin reduced to the necessity of being her 
own executioner, to attest her innocence ! Hos- 
pitably entertained by her as her husband's kins- 
man, Sextus, the perfidious guest, became her 
brutal ravisher. The chaste, the generous Lucre- 



LUCRETIA.— (9rz;^m«/ and Compiled. 

tia, could not survive the outrage. Heroic 
matron ! But once only treated as a slave, life 
was no longer endurable ! And if she, with her 
soft woman's nature, disdained a life, that de- 
pended on a tyrant's will, shall we — shall men, 
with such an example before their eyes, and after 
five-and-twenty years of ignominious servitude — 
shall we, through a fear of death, delay one 
moment to assert our freedom ? No, Romans ! 
The favorable moment is come. The time is — 
now ! Fear not that the army will take the 
part of their Generals, rather than of the Peo- 
ple. The love of liberty is natural to all ; and 
your fellow-citizens in the Camp feel the weight 
of oppression as sensibly as you. Doubt not 
they will as eagerly seize the opportunity of 
throwing off their yoke. 

Courage, Romans ! The Gods art for us ! 
those Gods whose temples and altars the im- 
pious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of 
the wronged Lucretia, I swear, — hear me, ye 



SPEiiCHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



207 



Powers Supreme ! — by this blood, which was 
once so pure, and which nothing but royal vil- 
liany could have polluted, — I swear that I will 
pursue, to the death, these Tarquins, with fire 
and sword ; nor will I ever suffer any one of 



that family, or of any other family whatsoever, 
to be King in Rome ! — On to the Forum ! Bear 
the body hence, high in the public view, through 
all the streets ! On, Romans, on ! The fool 
shall set you free ! 



LEONIDAS TO HIS THREE WJ^TiYi^T^.— Translated. 

Leonidas was King of Greece. Xerxes, King of Persia, was marching against him with an overwhelm- 
ing army. With three hundred men, Leonidas defended the pass of Thermopylae until he and all of his 
soldiers perished. 



YE men of Sparta, listen to the hope with 
which the Gods inspire Leonidas ! 
Consider how largely our death may 
redound to the glory and benefit of 
our country. Against this barbarian King, who, 
in his battle array, reckons as many nations as 
our ranks do soldiers, what could united Greece 
effect? In this emergency there is need that 
some unexpected power should interpose itself; 
that a valor and devotion, unknown hitherto, 
even to Sparta, should strike, amaze, confound 
this ambitious Despot ! From our blood, here 
freely shed to-day, shall this moral power, this 
sublime lesson of patriotism, proceed. 

To Greece it shall teach the secret of her 
strength ; to the Persians the certainty of their 
weakness. Before our scarred and bleeding 
bodies, we shall -see the great King grow pale at his 
own victory, and recoil affrighted. Or, should 
he succeed in forcing the pass of Thermopylae, 
he will tremble to learn, that, in marching upon 
our cities, he will find ten thousand, after us, 
equally prepared for death. Ten thousand, do I 
say? O, the swift contagion of a generous en- 
thusiasm ! Our example shall make Greece all 
fertile in heroes. 



An avenging cry shall follow the cry of her 
affliction. Country ! Independence ! From 
the Messenian hills to the Hellespont, every 
heart shall respond ; and a hundred thousand 
heroes, with one sacred accord, shall arm them- 
selves, in emulation of our unanimous death. 
These rocks shall give back the echo of their 
oaths. Then shall our little band, — the brave 
three hundred, — from the world of shades, revisit 
the scene ; behold the haughty Xerxes, a fugi- 
tive, re-cross the Hellespont in a frail bark; 
while Greece, after eclipsing the most glorious 
of her exploits, shall hallow a new Olympus in 
the mound that covers our tombs. 

Yes, fellow-soldiers, history and posterity shall 
consecrate our ashes. Wherever courage is hon- 
ored, through all time, shall Thermopylae and 
the Spartan three hundred be remembered. 
Ours shall be an immortality such as no human 
glory has yet attained. And when ages shall have 
swept by, and Sparta's last hour shall have come, 
then, even in her ruins, shall she be eloquent. 
Tyrants shall turn away from them, appalled ; but 
the heroes of liberty — the poets, the sages, the 
historians of all time — shall invoke and bless the 
L memory of the gallant three hundred of Leomidas ! 



CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR FMS\}\^J£.— Ben f onsen. Born 157 4. Died 16S7. 

A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which Sallust attributes to Catiline, previous to the engagement 
which ended in the rout of his army, and his own death. 



I NEVER yet knew. Soldiers, that in fight 
Words added virtue unto valiant men ; 
Or that a General's oration made 
An army fall or stand: but how much 
prowess, 
Habitual or natural, each man's breast 
Was owner of, so much in act it showed. 



Whom neither glory nor danger can excite, 
'Tis vain to attempt with speech. 

Two armies wait us, Soldiers; one from 
Rome 
The other from the provinces of Gaul. 
The sword must now direct and cut our pas^ 
sage. 



SPEECH]' S ()\- VOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



1 only, therefore, wish you, when you strike, 

'lo ha.-e your valors and your souls about 
you ; 

And think you carry in your laboring hands 

The things you seek, — glory and liberty ! 

For by your swords the Fates must be in- 
structed ! 

If we can give the blow, all will be safe ; 

We shall not want provision, nor supplies ; 

'I'he colonies and free towns will lie open ; 

Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place, 

Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own 
fortune 

And ill-used arms have left without protection. 
You might have lived in servitude or exile. 

Or safe at Rome, depending on the great. 

But that you thought those things unfit for 
men: 



And, in that thought, my friends, you then were 

valiant ; 
For no man ever yet changed peace for war 
But he that meant to conquer. Hold that 

purpose. 
Meet the opposing army in that spirit. 
There's more necessity you should be such. 
In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. 
He's base who trusts his feet, who hands are 

armed. 
Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting 
What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure 
F"or the great spectacle. Draw then your 

swords, 
And, should our destiny begrudge our virtu^ 
The honor of the day, let us take care, 
To sell ourselves at such a price as may 
Undo the world to buy us. 



MARCUS BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CJESAR.-S/iakespeare. 

Marcus Junius Brutus. Born 80 B. C. Killed himself 36 B. C. A noted Roman general who joined 
the conspiracy against the life of Caesar, and afterwards became the leader of the republican army against 
Antony and Octavius. 

(This selection, and the one following, will be rendered more efiFective if the speakers dress in Romar 
costume, and have several spectators on the stage to represent the Roman people. Other details, such a., 
the mantle, cofl5n, etc., suggested by the text, may be added with good effect.) 



ROMANS, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear 
me for my cause, and be silent, that 
you may hear. Believe me for mine 
honor, and have respect to mine 
honor, that you may believe. Censure me in 
your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you 
may the better judge. If there be any in this 
assembly, — any dear friend of Caesar's, — to 
him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was not 
less than his. If, then, that friend demand why 
lirutus rose against Coesar, this is my answer: 
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved 
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were 
living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were 
dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar loved me, 
I weep Tor him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice 
at .it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but as he 
was ambitious, I slew him. There are teats, 
for his love ; joy, for his fortune ; honor, for his 
valor ; and death, for his ambition ! Who is 
here so base, that would be a bondman ? If 



any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so rude, that would not be a Roman ? If 
any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who is 
here so vile that will not love his country ? If 
any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause 
for a reply. 

None ? — Then none have I offended. I have 
done no more to Caesar than you shall do to 
Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled 
in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein 
he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for 
which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark 
Antony; who, though he had no hand in his 
death, shall receive the benefit of his dying 
a place in the commonwealth : As which 
of you shall not ? With this I depart : That, 
as I slew my best lover for the good of 
Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, 
when it shall please ,my country to need my 
death. 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



2o?> 



MARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON CESAR'S DEATH. —Shakespeare. 

Mark Antony Born 83 B. C. Died 30 B. C. A noted Roman general and statesman who was a fiiend 

of Csesar, and after Csesar's death conducted, with Octavius, a war against Brutus and Cassius. 

(For convenience in recitation, this selection is divided into two parts.) 



Part I. 

FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen lend me 
your ears 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise 
him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus 
Hath told you Csesar was ambitious : — 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grieously hath Caesar answered it ! 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honorable man ! 
So are they all ! all honorable men, 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me, — 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man ! 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath 

wept. 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuif ! — 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. 
And Brutus is an honorable man ! 
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition? — 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And sure he is an honorable man ! 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once ; not without cause : 
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for 

him ! 

O judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 

And I must pause till it come back to me. — 

But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world ; — now lies he there, 
14 



And none so poor to do him reverence ! 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage^ 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong. 
Who, you all know, are honorable men ! — 

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you. 
Than I will wrong such honorable men ! — 
But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar,— 
I found it in his closet, — 'tis his will ! 
Let but the commons hear this testament, — 
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, — 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wound* 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 
Unto their issue ! 

Part II. 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on : 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, - 
That day he overcame the Nervii r — 
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through ! 
See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — 
Through this, — the well-beloved Brutus stabbed 
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ! 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. 
Judge, O ye. gods, how dearly Caesar loved 

him ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ! 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' armsj 
Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty 

heart 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's statue, — 



10 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MlLITAkY LEADERS. 



Which all the while ran blood ! — great Coesar 
fell! 

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us ! 

O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! 

Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but 
behold 
* Our Cnesar's vesture wounded? — look you here ! 

Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by trait- 
ors ! 



Good friends ! sweet friends ! let me not stir 
you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 
They that have done this deed are honorable ! 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not. 
That made them do it : they are wise and hon- 
orable. 



And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man. 
That love my friend, — and that they know full 

well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him, — 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, — poor, poor, 

dumb mouths. 
And bid them speak for me. But, were I 

Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! 



HANNIBAL TO HIS AR^'^— Abridgment from Livy. 
When Hannibal was a child his father made him swear eternal enmity to Rome. 



HERE soldiers, you must either conquer 
or die. On the right and left two seas 
enclose you; and you have no ship to 
fly to for escape. The river Po 
around you, — the Po, larger and more impetuous 
than the Rhone,— the Alps behind, scarcely 
passed by you when fresh and vigorous, hem you 
in. Here Fortune has granted you the termina- 
tion of your labors ; here she will bestow a re- 
ward worthy of the service you have undergone. 
All the spoils that Rome has amassed by so many 
triumphs will be yours. Think not that, in pro- 
portion as this war is great in name, the victory 
will be difficult. From the Pillars of Hercules, 
from the ocean, from the remotest limits of the 
world, over mountains and rivers, you have ad- 
vanced victorious through the fiercest Nations of 
Gaul and Spain. And with whom are you now 
to fight? With a raw army, which this very 
summer was beaten, conquered, and surrounded ; 
an army unknown to their leader, and he to 
them! Shall I compare myself, almost born, 
and certainly bred, in the tent of my father, that 
illustrious commander, — myself, the conqueror, 



not only of the Alpine Nations, but of the Alps 
themselves, — myself, who was the pupil of you 
all, before I became your commander, — to this 
six months' general ? or shall I compare his army 
with mine ? 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold 
all full of courage and strength :— a veteran in- 
fantry ; a most gallant cavalry ; you, our allies, 
most faithful and valiant ; you, Carthagenians, 
whom not only your country's cause, but the 
justest anger, impels to battle. The valor, the 
confidence of invaders, are ever greater than 
those of the defensive party. As the assailants 
in this war, we pour down, with hostile standards, 
upon Italy. We bring the war. Suff"ering, in- 
jury and indignity, fire our minds. First they 
demanded me, your leader, for punishment ; and 
then all of you, who had laid siege to Saguntum. 
And, had we been given up, they would have 
visited us with the severest tortures. Cruel and 
haughty Nation ! Everything must be yours, 
and at your disposal ! You are to prescribe to us 
with whom we shall have war, with whom peace ! 
You are to shut us up by the boundaries of moun- 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



211 



tains and rivers, which we must not pass ! But 
you — you are not to observe the limits yourselves 
have appointed ! 

Soldiers, there is nothing left to us, in any 
quarter, but what we can vindicate with our 
swords. Let those be cowards who have some- 
thing to look back upon ; whom, flying through 
safe and unmolested roads, their own country 



will receive. There is a necessity for us to be 
brave. There is no alternative but victory or 
death ; and if it must be deaths who would not 
rather encounter it in battle than in flight ? The 
immortal gods could give no stronger incentive 
to victory. Let but these truths be fixed in your 
minds, and once again I proclaim, you are con* 
querors ! 



After the above speech, Hannibal gained a great victory over Scipio, the Roman general. The follow- 
ing address is supposed to be delivered by Scipio to his army, prior to the same engagement, namely, 
Ticinus, 218 B. C. 

SCIPIO TO HIS P^RMV ,— Abridgment from Livy. 

might have slain these Carthaginians, when they 
were shut up in Eryx, by hunger, the most 
dreadful of human tortures. We might have 
carried over our victorious fleet to Africa, and, 
in a few days, have destroyed Carthage, without 
opposition. 

We yielded to their prayers for pardon ; we 
released them from the blockade ; we made 
peace with them when conquered ; and we 
afterwards held them under our protection, 
when they were borne down by the African war. 
In return for these benefits, they come, under 
the leadership of a hot-brained youth, to lay 
waste our country. Ah \ would that the con- 
test on your side were now for glory, and 
not for safety ! It is not for the possession 
of Sicily and Sardinia, but for Italy, that you 
must fight : nor is there another army behind, 
which, should we fail to conquer, can resist 
the enemy ; nor are there other Alps, during 
the ■ passage of which, fresh forces may be pro- 
cured. 

Here, soldiers, here we- must make our stand. 
Here we must fight, as if we fought before the 
walls of Rome ! Let every man bear in mind; 
it is not only his own person, but his wife and 
children, he must now defend. Nor let the 
thought of them alone possess his mind. Let 
him remember that the Roman Senate — the 
Roman People — are looking, with anxious eyes, 
to our exertions; and that, as our valor and 
our strength shall this day be, such will be the 
fortune of Rome — such the welfare — nay, the 
very existence, of our country ! 



NOT because of their courage, O soldiers, 
but because an engagement is now 
inevitable, do the enemy prepare for 
battle. Two-thirds of their infantry 
and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the 
Alps. Those who survive hardly equal in num- 
ber those who have perished. Should any one 
say, *' Though few, they are stout and irresisti- 
ble, ' ' I reply, — Not so ! They are the veriest 
shadows of men ; wretches, emaciated with hun- 
ger, and benumbed with cold ; bruised and en- 
feebled among the rocks and crags ; their joints 
frost-bitten, their sinews stiffened with the snow, 
their armor battered and shivered, their horses 
lame and powerless. Such is the cavalry, such 
the infantry, against which you have to con- 
tend ; — not enemies, but shreds and remnants of 
enemies ! I fear nothing more, than that when 
you have fought Hannibal, the Alps may seem 
to have been beforehand, and to have robbed 
you of the renown of a victory. But perhaps 
it was fitting that the gods themselves, irrespec- 
tive of human aid, should commence and carry 
forward a war against a leader and a people who 
violate the faith of treaties ; and that we, who 
next to the gods have been most injured, should 
complete the contest thus commenced, and 
nearly finished. 

I would, therefore, have you fight, O soldiers, 
not only v/ith that spirit with which you are 
wont to encounter other enemies, but with a 
certain indignation and resentment, such as you 
might experience if you should see your slaves 
suddenly taking up arms against ,you. We 



212 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



ALFRED THE GREAT TO HIS lAEN,— Adaptation from Knowles. 



MY friends, our country must be free ! 
The land 
Is never lost that has a son to right 
her, — 
And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones ! 
Strong in her children should a mother be : 
Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us ? 
God save our native land, whoever pays 
The ransom that redeems her ! Now, what wait 

v/e ?— 
For Alfred's word to move upon the foe? 
Upon him, then ! Now think ye on the things 
You most do love ! Husbands and fathers, on 
Their wives and children ; lovers, on their be- 
loved ; 
And allj upon their country ! When you ii^ii 
Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes. 
To whet them, could have lent you tears for 

water ! 
O, now be men, or never ! From your hearths 
Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks 
Drove forth your aged sires — your wives and 

babes ! 
The couches, your fair-handed daughters used 
To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press. 



Weary from spoiling you ! Your roofs, that hear 

The wanton riot of the intruding guest/ 

That mocks their masters, — clear them for the 

sake 
Of the manhood to which all that's precious 

clings 
Else perishes. The land that bore you — O ! 
Do honor to her ! Let her glory in 
Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — 

or 
Ne'er call her mother more ! Come on, my 

friends. 
And, where you take your stand upon the field. 
However you advance, resolve on this, 
That you will ne'er recede, while from the 

tongues 
Of age, and womanhood, and infancy, 
The helplessness, whose safety in you lies, 
Invokes you to be strong ! Come on ! Come 

on ! 
I'll bring you to the foe ! And when you meet 

him. 
Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a 

dying blow 
Is in an arm ! Strike till you're free, or fall ! 



GALGACUS TO THE CP\.\^E.DON\Pi.NS,— Abridgment from Tacitus. 



REFLECTING on the origin of this war, 
and on the straits to which we are 
reduced, I am persuaded, O Caledo- 
nians, that to your strong hands and 
indomitable will is British liberty this day con- 
fided. There is no retreat for us, if vanquished. 
Not even the sea, covered as it is by the Roman 
fleet, offers a jiath for escape. And thus war 
and arms, ever welcomed by the brave, are now 
the only safety of the cowardly, if any such 
there be. No refuge is behind us ; naught but 
the rocks, and the waves, and the deadlier 
Romans : men whose pride you have vainly 
tried to conciliate by forbearance ; whose cruelty 
you have vainly sought to deprecate by modera- 
tion. The robbers of the globe, when the land 
fails, they scour the sea. Is the enemy rich, — 



they are avaricious ; is he poor, — they are am- 
bitious. The East and the West are unable to 
satiate their desires. Wealth and poverty are 
alike coveted by their rapacity. To carry off, 
to massacre, to make seizures under false pre- 
tences, this they call empire ; and when they 
make a desert, they call it peace ! 

Do not suppose, however, that the prowess of 
these Romans is equal to their lust. They have 
thrived on our divisions. They know how to 
turn the vices of others to their own profit. 
Casting off all hope of pardon, let us exhibit 
the courage of men to whom salvation and 
glory are equally dear. Nursed in freedom as 
we have been, unconquered and unconquerable, 
let us, in the first onset, show these usurpers 
what manner of men they are that Old Gale* 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



213 



donia shelters in her bosom ! All the incite- 
ments to victory are on our side. Wives, 
parents, children, — these we have to protect; 
and these the Romans have not. They have 
none to cry shame upon their flight ; none to 
shed tears of exultation at their success. Few 
in numbers, fearful from ignorance, gazing on 
unknown forests and untried seas, the gods have 
delivered them, hemmed in, bound and helpless, 
into our hands. 

Let not their showy aspect, their glitter of 



silver and gold, dismay you. Such adornments 
can neither harm nor protect from harm. In 
the very line of the enemy we shall find friends. 
The Britons, the Gauls, the Germans, will 
recognize their own cause in ours. Here is a 
leader ; here an army ! There are tributes, and 
levies, and badges of servitude, — impositions, 
which to assume, or to trample under foot for- 
ever, lies now in the power of your arms. Forth, 
then, Caledonians, to the field ! Think of your 
ancestors ! Think of your descendants 1 



MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN POPULACE.—Skakespeare. 



"X" "^THEREFORE rejoice that Caesar comes 
\ A / in triumph ? 

JL JL What conquest brings he home ? 

What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot- wheels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 

things ! 
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! 
Knew ye not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climbed up the walls and battle- 
ments. 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops. 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The life-long day, with patient expectation, 



To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout. 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks 
To hear the replication of your sounds, 
Made in her concave shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you 77.0W strew flowers in Ms way. 
That comes in triumph over Pompey' s blood ? 
Begone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your 

knees 
Pray to the gods to intermit the pla^^ue 
That needs must light on this ingratitude ! 



CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS.- AdapifaHon from Croly. 



MEN of Gaul ! 
What would you give for Freedom? — 
For Freedom, if it stood before your 
eyes ; 
For Freedom, if it rushed to your embrace ; 
For Freedom, if its sword were ready drawn 
To hew your chains off"? 

Ye would give death or life ! Then marvel not 
That I am here — that Catiline would join you ! — 
The great Patrician ? — ^Yes — ^an hour ago — 
But now the rebel ; Rome's eternal foe. 
And your sworn friend ! My desperate wrong's 

my pledge 
There's not in Rome, — no — not upon the earth, 
A man so wronged. The very ground I tread 
Is grudged me. — Chieftains ! er*^ -he moon be 
down, 



My land will be the Senate's spoil ; my life, 

The mark of the first villain that will stab 

For lucre. — But there's a time at hand ! — Gaze 

on ! 
If I had thought you cowards, I might have come 
And told you lies. But you have now the thing 
I am ; — Rome's enemy, — and fixed as fate 
To you and yours forever ! 
The State is weak as dust. 
Rome's broken, helpless, heart-sick. Venge- 
ance sits 
Above her, like a vulture o'er a corpse. 
Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay. 
Have let the waters round her pillar's foot ; 
And it must fall. Her boasted strength's a 

ghost. 
Fearful to dastards ; — yet, to trenchant swords, 



214 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



Thin as the passing air ! A single blow, 

In this diseased and crumbling state of Rome, 

Would break your chains like stubble. 

But ** ye've no swords ! " 

Have you no ploughshares, scythes ? 

When men are brave, the sickle is a spear 1 

Must Freedom pine till the slow armorer 



Gilds her caparison, and sends her out 

To glitter and play antics in the sun ? 

Let hearts be what they ought, — the naked earth 

Will be their magazine ; — the rocks — the trees — 

Nay, there's no idle and unnoted thing. 

But, in the hand of Valor, will out-thrust x 

The spear, and make the mail a mockery ! 



CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO 

BRAVE comrades ! all is mined ! I disdain 
To hide the truth from you. The die 
is thrown ! 
And now, let each that wishes for long 
Hfe 
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. 
Ye are all free to go. — What ! no man stirs ! 
Not one ! — a soldier's spirit in you all ? 
Give me your hands ! (This moisture in jny eyes 
Is womanish — 'twill pass.) My noble hearts! 
Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my 

mind. 
The grave is better than o'erburthened life; — 
Better the quick release of glorious wounds, 
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ; — 



HIS ARlA\,—Croly. 

Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, 
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse; 
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood, 
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge 
In poverty, dull pain, and base decay. — 
Once more, I say, — are ye resolved? 
Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms 
That he would love to die in, — for, this hour, 
We storm the Consul's camp. — A last farewell ! 
When next we meet, we'll have no time to look, 
How parting clouds a soldier's countenance: — • 
Few as we are, we'll rouse them with a peal 
That shall shake Rome ! — 

Now to your cohorts' heads, — the word's — 
Revenge ! 



REGULUS TO THE ROMAN SENATE.~5ar^^«/. 

In the wars with Carthage, Regulus, the Roman general, was taken prisoner. He was released to make 
a tour to Rome to sue for peace, and, on the condition of its being granted, Regulus was to be liberated ; 
otherwise, he gave his word to return. On appearing before the Roman Senate, to the astonishment of the 
Carthaginian ambassadors, he advised Rome against the overtures of Carthage, and returned to captivity, 
where he suflfered death rather than break his promise to return. 



ILL does it become w<f, O Senators of Rome ! — 
ill does it become Regulus, — after having 
so often stood in this venerable Assembly 
clothed with the supreme dignity of the 
Republic, to stand before you a captive — the 
captive of Carthage ! Though outwardly I am 
free, — though no fetters encumber the limbs, or 
gall the flesh, — yet the heaviest of chains, — the 
pledge of a Roman Consul, — makes me the bonds- 
man of the Carthaginians. They have my promise 
to return to them, in the event of the failure of 
this their embassy. My life is at their mercy. 
My honor is my own ; — a possession which no 
reverse of fortune can jeopard ; a flame which 
imprisonment cannot stifle, time cannot dim, 
death cannot extinguish. 



Of the train of disasters which followed close 
on the unexampled successes of our arms, — of 
the bitter fate which swept off the flower of our 
soldiery, and consigned me, your General, 
wounded and senseless, to Carthaginian keep- 
ing, — I will not speak. For five years, a rigor- 
ous captivity has been my portion. For five 
years, the society of family and friends, the dear 
amenities of home, the sense of freedom, and the 
sight of country, have been to me a recollection 
and a dream, — no more ! But during that period 
Rome has retrieved her defeats. She has re- 
covered under Metellus what under Regulus she 
lost. She has routed armies. She has taken 
unnumbered prisoners. She has struck terror to 
the hearts of the Carthaginians ; who have now 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



215 



sent me hither with their Ambassadors, to sue 
for peace, and to propose that, in exchange for 
me, your former Consul, a thousand common 
prisoners of war shall be given up. You have 
heard the Ambassadors. Their intimations of 
some unimaginable horror — I know not what — 
impending over myself, should I fail to induce 
you to accept their terms, have strongly moved 
your sympathies in my behalf. Another appeal, 
which I would you might have been spared, has 
lent force to their suit. A wife and children, 
threatened with widowhood and orphanage, 
weeping and despairing, have knelt at your 
feet, on the very threshold of the Senate-cham- 
ber. — Conscript Fathers ! Shall not Regulus be 
saved ? Must he return to Carthage to meet the 
cruelties which the Ambassadors brandish before 
our eyes? With one voice you answer. No! — 
Countrymen ! Friends ! For all that I have 
suffered — for all that I may have to suffer — I am 
repaid in the compensation of this moment ! Un- 
fortunate, you may hold me ; but, O, not unde- 
serving ! Your confidence in my honor survives 
all the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You 
have not forgotten the past. Republics are not 
ungrateful ! May the thanks I cannot utter bring 
down blessings from the Gods on you and Rome ! 
Conscript Fathers ! There is but one course 
to be pursued. Abandon all thought of peace. 
Reject the overtures of Carthage ! Reject them 
wholly and unconditionally ! What ! Give back 
to her a thousand able-bodied men, and receive 
in return this one attenuated, war-worn, fever- 
wasted frame, — this weed, whitened in a dun- 
geon's darkness, pale and sapless, which no 
kindness of the sun, no softness of the summer 
breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor? 



It must not — it shall not be ! O ! were Regulus 
what he was once, before captivity had unstrung 
his sinews and enervated his limbs, he might 
pause, — he might proudly think he were well 
worth a thousand of the foe ; — he might say, 
'* Make the exchange ! Rome shall not lose by 
it !" But now — alas ! now 'tis gone, — that im- 
petuosity of strength, which could once make 
him a leader indeed, to penetrate a phalanx or 
guide a pursuit. 

His very armor would be a burthen now. His 
battle-cry would be drowned in the din of the 
onset. His sword would fall harmless on his 
opponent's shield. But, if he cannot live, he 
can at least die, for his country ! Do not deny 
him this supreme consolation. Consider : every 
indignity, every torture, which Carthage shall 
heap on his dying hours, will be better than a 
trumpet's call to your armies. They will re- 
member only Regulus, their fellow-soldier and 
their leader. They will forget his defeats. They 
will regard only his services to the Republic. 
Tunis, Sardinia, Sicily, — every well-fought field, 
won by his blood and theirs ,-~-~-n'-{S1 flash on their 
remembrance, and kindle their avenging wrath. 
And so shall Regulus, though dead, fight as he 
never fought before against the foe. 

Conscript Fathers ! There is another theme. 
My family — forgive the thought ! To you, and 
to Rome, I confide them. I leave them no legacy 
but my name, — no testament but my example. 

Ambassadors of Carthage ! I have spoken, 
though not as you expected. I am your cap- 
tives. Lead me back to whatever fate may await 
me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman 
hearts, country is dearer than life, and integrity 
more precious than freedom ! 



REGULUS TO THE CARTHAGINIANS.—^. Kellogg. 

After me return of Regulus to Carthage, he is supposed to have delivered this heroic address to v^^e Cartha- 
ginians assembled to put him to death. 



YE doubtless thought — for ye judge of 
Roman virtue by your own— that I 
would break my plighted oath, rather 
than, returning, brook your ven- 
geance. If the bright blood that fills my veins. 



transmitted free from godlike ancestry, were like 
that slimy ooze which stagnates in your arteries, 
I had remained at home, and broke my plighted 
oath to save my life. 

I am a Roman citizen ; therefore have I re- 



IG 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



turned, tha. ye might work your will upon this 
mass of flesh and bones, that I esteem no higher 
than the rags that cover them. Here, in your 
capital, do I defy you. Have I not conquered 
your armies, fired your towns, and dragged your 
generals at my chariot wheels, since first my 
youthful arms could wield a spear ? And do you 
think to see me crouch and cower before a tamed 
and shattered Senate ? The tearing of flesh and 
rending of sinews is but pastime compared with 
the mental agony that heaves my frame. 

The moon has scarce yet waned since the 
proudest of Rome's proud matrons, the mother 
upon whose breast I slept, and whose fair brow 
so oft had bent over me before the noise of battle 
had stirred my blood, or the fierce toil of war 
nerved my sinews, did with fondest memory of 
bygone hours entreat me to remain. I have seen 
her, who, when my country called me to the field, 
did buckle on my harness with trembling hands, 
while the tears fell thick and fast down the hard 
corselet scales, — I have seen her tear her gray 
locks and beat her aged breast, as on her knees 
she begged me not to return to Carthage ; and 
ill the assembled Senate of Rome, grave and 
reverend men, proffered the same request. The 
puny torments which ye have in store to welcome 
me withal, shall be, to what I have endured, even 
as the murmur of a summer's brook to the fierce 
roar of angry surges on a rocky beach. 

I^ast night, as I lay fettered in my dungeon, 
I heard a strange, ominous sound : it seemed 



like the distant march of some vast army, their 
harness clanging as they marched, when sud- 
denly there stood by me Xanthippus, the Spar- 
tan general, by whose aid you conquered me, 
and, with a voice low as when the solemn wind 
moans through the leafless forest, he thus ad- 
dressed me : *' Roman, I come to bid thee curse, 
with thy dying breath, this fated city; know 
that in an evil moment, the Carthaginian gen- 
erals, furious with rage that I had conquered 
thee, their conqueror, did basely murder me. 
And then they thought to stain my brightest 
honor. But, for this foul deed, the wrath of 
Jove shall rest upon them here and hereafter. ' ' 
And then he vanished. 

And now, go bring your threatened tortures. 
The woes I see impending over this guilty realm 
shall be enough to sweeten death, though every 
nerve should tingle in its agony. I die ! but 
my death shall prove a proud triumph; and, 
for every drop of blood ye from my veins do 
draw, your own shall flow in rivers. Woe to 
thee, Carthage ! Woe to the proud city of the 
waters ! I see thy nobles wailing at the feet of 
Roman Senators ! • Thy citizens in terror ! Thy 
ships in flames ! I hear the victorious shouts of 
Rome ! I see her eagles glittering on thy ram- 
parts. Proud city, thou art doomed ! The curse 
of God is on thee — a clinging, wasting curse. It 
shall not leave thy gates till hungry flames shall 
lick the fretted gold from off thy proud palaces, 
and every brook runs crimson to the sea. 



RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.— Mary Russell Milford. 



Ye know too 



We are 



FRIENDS ! 
I come not here to talk, 
well 
The story of our thraldom, 
slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
To crimson glory and undying fame, — 
But base, ignoble slaves'! — slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords. 



Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 

Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 

In that strange spell — a name ! Each hour, 

dark fraud 
Or open rapine, or protected murder. 
Cry out against them. But this very day. 
An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — 
Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air. 
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts. 
At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men. 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



21 



And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
The stain away in blood? Such shames are 

common. 
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak 

to ye; 
I had a brother once, a gracious boy. 
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 
Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give 
To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years 
Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smile 
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour. 
That pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 



I*L»r vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, 

ye slaves ! 
Have ye brave sons ? — Look in the next fierce 

brawl 
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? — 

Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice. 
Be answered by the lash ! Yet, this is Rome, 
That sate on her seven hills, and from her throne 
Of beauty ruled the world ? Yet, we are Romans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a King ! And once again — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear 
The Eternal City shall be free ! 



SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA.— ^. Kellogg. 

Spartacus was born about no B. C. He was a Thracian soldier„ who was taken prisoner by the 
Romans, made a slave, and trained as a gladiator. He escaped with a number of fellow-gladiators to the 
mountains, where he became leader of a numerous band, and defeated Claudius Pulcher, a Roman general. 
He proclaimed freedom to all slaves who would join him, and thus raised a powerful army, defeating, 
repeatedly, the Roman Consuls sent against him. His army numbered more than 100,000 men, and he 
would, no doubt, have conquered Rome, had not dissentions arisen among his soldiers. He was prudent and 
brave, and altogether a most extraordinary man with all the qualities of a great hero. He was killed in 
battle 71 B. C, and the great Servile War, of which he was leader, ended with his death. 



IT had been a day of triumph in Capua. Len - 
tulus, returning with victorious eagles, had 
amused the populace with the sports of the 
amphitheatre to an extent hitherto un- 
known even in that luxurious city. The shouts 
of revelry had died away j the roar of the lion 
had ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the 
banquet ; and the lights in the palace of the vic- 
tor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the 
tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on 
the corslet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the 
dark waters of the Vultumus with a wavy, tremu- 
lous light. No sound was heard, save the last 
sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to the 
smooth pebbles of the beach ; and then all was 
as still as the breast when the spirit has departed. 
In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band 
of gladiators were assembled j their muscles still 
knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon 
their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on 
their brows ; when Spartacus, arising in the midst 
of that grim assembly, thus addressed them : 



*' Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call hi7n 
chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon 
the arena every shape of man or beast the broad 
empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet 
lowered his arm. If there be one among you 
who can say, that ever, in public fight or private 
brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him 
stand forth, and say it. If there be three in all 
your company dare face me on the bloody sands, 
let them come on. And yet I was not always 
thus, — a hired butcher, a savage chief of still 
more savage men ! My ancesters came from old 
Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks 
and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life 
ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; and 
when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the 
shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, 
there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join 
me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the 
same pasture, and partook together our rustic 
meal. One evening, after the sheep^ere folded, 
and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which 



218 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, 
was telling of Marathon, and Leuctra ; and how, 
in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, 
in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a 
whole army. I did not then know what war 
was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, 
and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, 
until my mother, parting the hair from off my 
forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade 
me go to rest, and think no more of those old 
tales and savage wars. That very night, the 




SPARTACUS. 

Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast 
that had nourished me trampled by the hoof 
of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my 
tather flung amidst the blazing raf>ers of our 
dwelling ! 

'* To-day I killed a man in the rena ; and, 
when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold ! he was 
my friund. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, 
and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips 
that I had marked, when, in adventurous boy- 
hood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first 



ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish tri- 
umph. I told the pr?etor that the dead man 
had been my friend, generous and brave ; and 1 
begged that I might bear away the body, to 
burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its 
ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and 
blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while 
all the assembled maids and matrons, and the 
holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, 
shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, for- 
sooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale 
and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding 
clay ! And the praetor drew back as if I were 
pollution, and sternly said : * Let the carrion 
rot ; there are no noble men but Romans ! ' And 
so, fellow -g/adia/ors, must you, and so must I, 
die like dogs. O, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been 
a tender nurse to me. Ay, thou hast given to 
that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who nevei 
knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscle* 
of iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive 
the sword through plaited mail and links of 
rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his 
foe; — to gaze into the glaring eye-balls of the 
fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a 
laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, 
until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, 
and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies 
curdled ! 

* ' Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! 
The strength of brass is in your toughened 
sinews ; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, 
breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, 
shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, 
and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! 
hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? ' Tis three 
days since he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he 
shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty 
meal for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts , then 
stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's 
knife ! If ye are men, — follow me ! Strike 
down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and 
there do bloody work, as did your sires at Old 
Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old 
Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do 
crouch and cower like a belabored hound 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



219 



beneath his master's lash? O comrades ! war- 
riors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us 
fight for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let 



us slaughter our oppressors ! If we must die, 
let it be under the clear sky, by the bright 
waters, in noble, honorable battle ! " 



After the above speech, Spartacus, with his gladiator companion, is supposed to have fought his way 
out ; and, when free, soon collected an a.rmy, with which he forced Rome to treat for peace. 

SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETRURIA.— 5ar^^«/. 

(This should be spoken with great dignity, yet intense suppressed feeling.) 

ENVOYS of Rome, the poor camp of 
Spartacus is too much honored by your 
presence. And does Rome stoop to 



parley with the escaped gladiator, with 
the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight 
has been too scornful ? You have come, with 
steel in your right hand, and with gold in your 
left. What heed we give the former, ask 
Cossinius ; ask Claudius ; ask Varinius j ask the 
bones of your legions that fertilize the Lucanian 
plains. And for your gold — would ye know 
what we do with that^ — go ask the laborer, the 
trodden poor, the helpless and the hopeless, on 
our route ; ask all whom Roman tyranny has 
crushed, or Roman avarice plundered. Ye have 
seen me before ; but ye did not then shun my 
glance as now. Ye have seen me in the arena, 
when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeared 
with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I 
forget it ever? — ye were present ; — I had fought 
long and well. Exhausted as I was, your muner- 
ator, your lord of the games, bethought him, it 
were an equal match to set against me a new 
man, younger and lighter than I, but fresh and 
valiant. With Thracian sword and buckler, 
forth he came, a beautiful defiance on his brow ! 
Bloody and brief the fight. '^He has it ! " 
cried the People! "hadetf habetr' But still 
he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held 
him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I 
looked around upon the Podium, where sat 
your Senators and men of State, to catch the 
Signal of release, of mercy. But not a thumb 
was reversed. To crown your sport, the van- 
quished man must die ! 

Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay 
him, when a few hurried words — rrather a wel- 
come to death than a plea for life — told me he 



was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The 
arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my 
native hills ! The sword dropped from my 
hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in 
my arms. O, the magnanimity of Rome ! 
Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated 
of their death-show, hissed their disappointment, 
and shouted ^*Kill!" I heeded them as I 
would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him ? — 
They might better have asked the mother to 
kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah ! he was 
already wounded unto death ; and, amid the 
angry yells of the spectators, he died. That 
night I was scourged for disobedience. I shall 
not forget it. Should memory fail, there are 
scars here to quicken it. 

Well ! do not grow impatient. Some hours 
after, finding myself, with seventy fellow-gladi- 
ators, alone in the amphitheatre, the laboring 
thought broke forth in words. I said, — I know 
not what. I only know that, when I ceased, 
my comrades looked each other in the face — 
and then burst forth the simultaneous cry, ' * Lead 
on ! lead on, O Spartacus ! ' ' Forth we rushed, — 
seized what rude weapons Chance threw in our 
way, and to the mountains speeded. There, 
day by day, our little band increased. 

Disdainful Rome sent after us a handiil of her 
troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. 
Their weapons soon were ours. She sent an 
army ; and down from old Vesuvius we poured, 
and slew three thousand. Now it was Spar- 
tacus, the dreaded rebel. A larger army, headed 
by the Praetor, was sent, and routed ; then an- 
other still. And always I remembered that 
fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to 
''kill!" In three pitched battles, have T not 
obeyed it ! And now affrighted Rome sends 



220 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



her *:*.vo Consuls, and puts forth all her strength 
by land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal 
were on her borders ! 

Envoys of Rome ! To Lentulus and Gellius 
bear this message : * ' Their graves are measured ! ' ' 
Look on that narrow stream, a silver thread, 
high on the mountain side ! Slenderly it winds, 
but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a 
torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the 
abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes 

HENRY V. TO HIS 

^T" "T^HAT'S he that wishes for more men 

\ A / from England ? 

Jl jL My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my 
fair cousin ; 
If we are marked to die, we are enow 
To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
The fewer men, the greater share of honoi. 
I pray thee do not wish for one man more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold ; 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; — 
Such outward things dwell not in my desire- : 
But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, ' faith my Lord, wish not a man from England: 
I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor 
As only one man more would share from me, 
For the best hope I have. O ! ^o not wish one 

more 
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my 

host. 
That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, 
Let him depart ; his passport shall be made. 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse. 
We would not die in that man's company 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This day is called the feast of Ciispian 



on ! So swells /it's force, — small and despised 
at first, but now resistless ! On, on to Rome 
we come ! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence 
tremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shud- 
der to think the oppressed may have their turn ! 
Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of redder hands 
than his ! O ! we shall not forget Rome's many 
lessons. She shall not find her training was all 
wasted upon indocile pupils. Now begone ! Pre- 
pare the Eternal City for our games ! 

SOLDIERS.— Shakespeare. 

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home> 

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 

And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 

He that outlives this day, and sees old age, 

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors. 

And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian ! 

Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 

Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot 

But he'll remember, with advantages. 

What feats he did that day. Then shall our 

names, — 
Familiar in his mouth as household words, — 
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
This story shall the good man teach his son : 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
From this day to the ending of the world. 
But we in it shall be remembered ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers : 
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, 
Shall be my brother : be he ne'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition. 
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed. 
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here; 
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 
That fought with us upon St. Crispian 's day. 



TO THE ARMY BEFORE QUEBEC, \759.— General JVol/e. Born 1726. Died 1759. 



I CONGRATULATE you, my brave coun- 
trymen and fellow-soldiers, on the spirit 
and success with which you have executed 
this important part of our enterprise. 
The formidable Heights of Abraham are now 



surmounted ; and the city of Quebec, the object 
of all our toils, now stands in full view before us. 
A perfidious enemy, who have dared to exasper- 
ate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you 
on equal ground, are now constrained to face 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



2'2[ 



you on me open plain, without ramparts or in- 
trenchments to shelter them. 

You know too well the forces which compose 
their army to dread their superior numbers. A 
few regular troops from old France, weakened by 
hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were un- 
able to withstand the British soldiers, are their 
General's chief dependence. Those numerous 
companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, 
unsteady and ill-disciplined, have exercised his 
utmost skill to keep them together to this time ; 
and, as soon as their irregular ardor is damped 
by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their 
backs, and give you no further trouble but in the 
pursiiit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, 
whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many 
a bold heart with affright, terrible as they are 
with a tomahawk and scalping-knife to a flying 
and prostrate foe, you have experienced how 



little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute 
men upon fair and open ground : you can now 
only consider them as the just objects of a 
severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many 
slaughtered countrymen. 

This day puts it into your power to terminate 
the fatigues of a siege which has so long em- 
ployed your courage and patience. Possessed 
with a full confidence of the certain success 
which British valor must gain over such enemies, 
I have led you up these steep and dangerous 
rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within 
your reach. The impossibility of a retreat 
makes no difference in the situation of men re- 
solved to conquer or die : and, believe me, my 
friends, if your conquest could be bought with 
the blood of your General, he would most 
cheerfully resign a life which he has long 
devoted to his country. 



PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE 

SIRS, ye have heard these knights discourse 
to you 
Of your ill fortunes, telling on their 
fingers 
The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. 
True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; 
And ill would it become us to make light 
Of the great loss we suffer by their fall. 
They died like heroes ; for no recreant step 
xiad e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear. 
No base despair, no cowardly recoil. -> 
They had the hearts of freemen to the last. 
And the free blood that bounded in their veins 
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
But had they guessed, or could they but have 

dreamed, 
The great examples which they died to show 
Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless 

here. 
That men should say, " For liberty these died. 
Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they tb'^'icrht 

this, 
O, then, with what an agony of shame 
Their blushing faces buried in the dust, 
Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven ! 



MEN OF GHENT.— Henry Taylor. 

What ! shall we teach our chroniclers hence- 
forth 
To write, that in five bodies were contained 
The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five de- 
funct. 
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led. 
Delivered up her keys, stript ofl" her robes. 
And so with all humility besought 
Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her 

lightly. 
It shall not be — no, verily! for now, 
Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, 
Mine eye can single out full many a man 
Who lacks but opportunity to shine 
As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. 

But, lo ! the Earl is ' ' mercifully minded ! ' ' 
And, surely, if we, rather than revenge 
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame. 
And fall upon our knees, and say we've 

sinned, 
Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us. 
And pardon us our strike for liberty ! 

O, Sirs ! look round you, lest ye be deceived 
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue. 
Forgiveness may be written with the pen. 



009 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



But think not that the parchment and mouth 

pardon 
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. 
There's that betwixt you been which men re- 
member 
Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot, — 
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed 
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. 

THE EARL OF RICHMOND 

MORE than I have said, loving country- 
men, 
The leisure and enforcement of the 
time 
Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this : — 
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side. 
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. 
Richard except, those whom we fight against 
Had rather have us win than him they follow. 
For what is he they follow ? Truly, gentleman, 
A bloody tyrant and a homicide ; 
One raised in blood, and one in blood established ; 
One that made means to come by what he hath, 
And slaughtered those that were the means to 

help him 
A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil 
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; 
One that hath ever been God's enemy. 



There's that betwixt you been which you your- 
selves 
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves, 
For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out, 
If, in the coldness of a craven heart, 
Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man 
For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! 

TO HI§ KYiW^ —Shakespeare. 

Then, if you fight against God's enemy, 
God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers , 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
If you do fight against your country's foes, 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; 
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives. 
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 
If you do free your children from the sword, 
Your children's children quit it in your age. 
Then, in the name of God and all these rights. 
Advance your standards, draw your willing 

swords. 
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 
But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt. 
The least of you shall share his part thereof 
Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully : 
God, and St. George ! Richmond and victory ! 



TO THE ARMY OF JTALY, May 15, M^Q,— Translated. 
Napoleon Bonaparte. Born 1769. Died 1821. 



SOLDIERS : You have precipitated your- 
selves like a torrent from the Apennines. 
You have overwhelmed or swept before 
you all that opposed your march. Pied- 
mont, delivered from Austrian oppression, has 
returned to her natural sentiments of peace and 
friendship towards France. Milan is yours; 
and over all Lombardy floats the flag of the Re- 
public. To your generosity only, do the Dukes 
of Parma and of Modena now owe their political 
existence. The army which proudly threatened 
you finds no remaining barrier of defence against 
your courage. The Po, the Tessino, the Adda, 
could not stop you a single day. Those vaunted 



ramparts of Italy proved insufficient, you trav 
ersed them as rapidly as you did the Apennines. 
Successes so numerous and brilliant have carried 
joy to the heart of your country. Your repre- 
sentatives have decreed a festival, to be celebrated 
in all the communes of the Republic, in honor 
of your victories. There will your fathers, 
mothers, wives, sisters, all who hold you dear, 
rejoice over your triumphs, and boast that you 
belong to them. 

Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but much 
still remains for you to do. Shall it be said of 
us that we knew how to conquer, but not to profit 
by victory ? Shall posterity reproach us with 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



223 



having found a Capua in Lombardy? Nay, 
fellow-soldiers ! I see you already eager to cry 
' ' to arms ! ' ' Inaction fatigues you ; and days 
lost to glory are days lost to happiness. Let us, 
then, begone ! We have yet many forced 
marches to make ; enemies to vanquish ; laurels 
to gather ; and injuries to avenge ! Let those 
who have sharpened the poniards of civil war in 
France, who have pusillanimously assassinated 
our Ministers, who have burned our vessels at 
Toulon, — let them now tremble ! The hour of 
vengeance has knolled ! 

But let not the People be disquieted. We 
are the friends of every People : and more es- 
pecially of the descendants of the Brutuses, the 
Scipios, and other great men to whom we look as 



bright exemplars. To re-establsh the Capitol ; 
to place there with honor the statues of the heroes 
who made it memorable ; to rouse the Roman 
People, unnerved by many centuries of oppres- 
sion, — such will be some of the fruits of our 
victories. They will constitute an epoch for 
posterity. To you. Soldiers, will belong the im- 
mortal honor of redeeming the fairest portion of 
Europe. The French People, free and respected 
by the whole world, shall give to Europe a glori- 
ous peace, which shall indemnify it for all the 
sacrifices which it has borne, the last six years. 
Then, by your own firesides you shall repose ; 
and your fellow-citizens, when they point out 
any one of you, shall say : ' ' He belonged to the 
army of Italy ! ' ' 



WAT TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KING.— Robert Southey. 



Bor7i 1774. 

KING of England, 
Petitioning for pity is most weak, — 
The sovereign People ought to demand 
justice. 
I lead them here against the Lord's anointed. 
Because his Ministers have made him odious ! 
His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. 
Why do ye carry on this fatal war, 
To force upon the French a King they 

hate ; 
Tearing our young men from their peaceful 

homes. 
Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest 

peasant 
Distressing us to desolate our neighbors ? 
Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed. 
But to support your Court's extravagance. 
And your mad title to the Crown of France ? 
Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils. 
Petitioning for pity ? King of England, 
Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, 
Deprived of every privilege of man ? 
Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet. 
And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that 

beats us? 
You sit at ease in your gay palaces. 
The costly banquet courts your appetite ; 



Died 184$. 

Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the 
while, 

Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food. 

And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night 
wind. 

Whilst your wild projects wrest the little from us 

Which might have cheered the wintry hours of 
age! 
The Parliament forever asks more money ; 

We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; 

Where is the benefit, — what good reap we 

From all the counsels of your government ? 

Think you that we should quarrel with the 
French ? 

What boots to us your victories, your glory ? 

We pay, we fight, — you profit at your ease ! 

Do you not claim the country as your own ? 

Do you not call the venison of the forest, 

The birds of Heaven, your own? — prohibit- 
ing us. 

Even though in want of food, to seize the prey 

Which Nature offers ? King ! is all this just ? 

Think you we do not feel the wrongs we 
suffer ? 

The hour of retrit?ution is at hand. 

And tyrants tremble — mark me. King of Eng- 
land ! 



224 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



WASHINGTON TO HIS SOLDIERS —General George IVashington. Bom 17S2. Died 1799. 
Addressed to the American troops before the battle of Long Island, 1776. 



THE time is now near at hand which must 
probably determine whether Americans 
are to be freeman or slaves ; whether 
they are to have any property they can 
call their own ; whether their houses and farms 
are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves 
consigned to a state of wretchedness from which 
no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of 
unborn millions will now depend, under God, on 
the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel 
and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the choice 
of a brave resistance, or the most abject submis- 
sion. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer 
or to die. 

Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us 
for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and if we 
now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous 
to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the 
goodness of our cause, and the aid of the 
Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to 
animate and encourage us to great and noble 
actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are 
now upon us ; and we shall have their blessings 



and praises, if happily we are the instruments of 
saving them from the tyranny meditated against 
them. Let us, therefore, animate and encourage 
each other, and show the whole world that a free- 
man contending for liberty on his own ground 
is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth. 

Liberty, property, life and honor, are all at 
stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the 
hopes of our bleeding and insulted country. Our 
wives, children and parents, expect safety from 
us only ; and they have every reason to believe 
that Heaven will crown with success so just a 
cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate 
by show and appearance; but remember they 
have been repulsed on various occasions by a 
few brave Americans. Their cause is bad, — 
their men are conscious of it ; and, if opposed 
with firmness and coolness on their first onset^ 
with our advantage of works, and knowledge of 
the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. 
Every good soldier will be silent and attentive, 
wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is 
sure of doing execution. 



LORD BYRON TO THE CREEKS,— Translated from Alphonse De Lamartine. 

Lord Byron joined the Greeks in their struggle for liberty from Turkish oppression in 1823. He was 
put in command of a division of Greek soldiers, and, it is said by his biographers, they were deeply 
attached to him. He died of fever at Missilongi while serving in the Greek army. 



A STRANGER to your clime, O men of 
Greece ! — born under a sun less pure, 
of an ancestry less renowned, than 
yours, — I feel how unworthy is the 
offering of the life I bring you — you, who num- 
ber kings, heroes, and derai-gods among your 
progenitors. But, throughout the world, where- 
ever the lustre of your history has shed its rays, — 
wherever the heart of man has thrilled at the 
thought of glory, or softened at the mention of 
misfortune, — Greece may count a friend, and her 
children an avenger. I come not here in the 
vain hope to stimulate the courage of men already 
roused and resolved. One sole cry remained for 
you, and you have uttered it. Your language 
has now one only word — Liberty ! Ah ! what 



other invocation need the men of Sparta — of 
Athens^-to bid them rise ? These blue heavens, 
these mountains, these waters, — here are your 
orators, — here is your present Demosthenes ! 
Wherever the eye can range, wherever the feet 
can tread, your consecrated soil recounts a tri- 
umph or a glorious death. From Leuctra to 
Marathon, every inch of ground responds to 
you — cries to you — for vengeance ! liberty ! 
glory ! virtue ! country ! These voices, which 
tyrants cannot stifle, demand, — not words, but 
steel. 'Tis here ! Receive it ! Arm. Let the 
thirsting earth at length be refreshed with the 
blood of her oppressors ! What sound more 
awakening to the brave than the clank of his 
country's fetters ? Should the sword ever tremble 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



225 



in your grasp, remember yesterday ! think of to- 
morrow ! 

For myself, in return for the alliance which I 
bring you, I ask but the recompense of an hon- 
orable grave. I ask but the privilege of shedding 
my blood ivith you, in your sacred cause. I ask 
but to know, in dying, that I, too, belong to 
Greece — to liberty ! Yes, might the Pilgrim 



hope that, on the pillars of a new Parthenon, his 
name might, one day, be inscribed, — or, that in 
the nobler mausoleum of your hearts his memory 
might be cherished, — he were well content. The 
tomb where Freedom weeps can never have been 
prematurely reached by its inmate. Such mar- 
tyrdom is blessed, indeed. What higher fortune 
can ambition covet ? 



ADDRESS OF BLACK HAWK TO GENERAL STREET. 

The simple, strong eloquence of Indian orators has been dwelt upon by writers of early colonial and 
United States history. Many of the savage chiefs, in their treaties and dealings with the whites, displayed 
a natural eloquence of the highest order. The following speeches are fair specimens of their style and 
spirit of oratory. 

away from us ; but they followed on and beset 
our paths, and they coiled themselves among us 
like the snake. They poisoned us by their 
touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. 
We looked up to the Great Spirit. We went to 
our father. We were encouraged. His great 
council gave us fair words and big promises ; but 
we got no satisfaction : things were growing 
worse. There were no deer in the forest. The 
opossum and beaver were fled. The springs were 
drying up, and our squaws and pappooses with- 
out victuals to keep them from starving. 

We called a great council, and built a large 
fire. The spirit of our fathers arose, and spoke 
to us to avenge our wrongs or die. We set up 
the war-whoop, and dug up the tomahawk ; our 
knives were ready, and the heart of Black Hawk 
swelled high in his bosom, when he led his war- 
riors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to the 
world of spirits contented. He has done his 
duty. His father will meet him there, and com- 
mend him. Black Hawk is a true Indian, and 
disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his 
wife, his children, and his friends. But he does 
not care for himself. He cares for the Nation 
and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments 
their fate. Farewell, my Nation ! Black Hawk 
tried to save you, and avenge your wrongs. He 
drank the blood of some of the whites. He has 
been taken prisoner, and his plans are crushed. 
He can do no more. He is near his end. His 
sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Fare- 
well to Black Hawk ! 



YOU have taken me prisoner, with ail my 
warriors. I am much grieved ; for I 
expected, if I did not defeat you, to 
hold out much longer, and give you 
more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard 
to bring you into ambush, but your last General 
understood Indian fighting. I determined to 
rush on you, and fight you face to face. I 
fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. 
The bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed 
by our ears like the wind through the trees in 
winter. My warriors fell around me ; it began 
to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The 
sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night 
it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of 
fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black 
Hawk. His heart is dead, and no longer beats 
quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the 
white men ; they will do with him as they wish. 
But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. 
He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian. 

He has done nothing for which an Indian 
ought to be ashamed. He has fought for his 
countrymen, against white men, who came, year 
after year, to cheat them, and take away their 
lands. You know the cause of our making war. 
It is known to all white men. They ought to be 
ashamed of it. The white men despise the In- 
dians, and drive them from their homes. They 
smile in the face of the poor Indian, to cheat 
him ; they shake him by the hand, to gain his 
confidence, to make him drunk, and to deceive 
him. We told them to let us alone, and keep 
15 



i>2(] 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF, TO LORD DUNMORE. 

The charge against Colonel Cresap, in the subjoined speech, — or, rather, message, — sent to Lord 
Dunmore, Governor of Virginia, in 1774, through John Gibson, an Indian trader, has been proved to be 
untrue. Gibson corrected Logan on the spot, but pro'bably felt bound to deliver the speech as it was 
delivered to him. 



I APPEAL to any white man to say, if ever 
he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he 
gave him not meat ; if ever he came cold 
and naked, and he clothed him not. 
During the course of the last long and bloody 
war Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advo- 
cate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, 
that my countrymen pointed at me as they 
passed, and said, '* Logan is the friend of white 
men." I had even thought to have lived with 
you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel 



Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and un- 
provoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, 
not sparing even my women and children. There 
runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any 
living creature. This called on me for revenge. 
I have sought it. I have killed many. I have 
glutted my vengeance. For my country, I re- 
joice at the beams of peace. But do not think 
that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. 
Logan will not turn on his heel to save his life. 
Who is there to mourn for Logan ? Not one. 



TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR. 1824:— Pus/tmaiaAa. Bom 1764. Died 



FATHER — I have been here at the council- 
house some time ; but I have not talked. 
I have not been strong enough to talk. 
You shall hear me talk to-day. I be- 
long to another district. You have, no doubt, 
heard of me. I am Pushmataha. 

Father — When in my own country, I often 
looked towards this council-house, and wanted 
to come here. I am in trouble. I will tell my 
distresses. I feel like a small child, not half as 
high as its father, who comes up to look in his 
father's face, hanging in the bend of his arm, to 
tell him his troubles. So, father, I hang in the 
bend of your arm, and look in your face ; and 
now hear me speak. 

Father — When I was in my own country, I 
heard there were men appointed to talk to us. 
I would not speak there ; I chose to come here, 
and speak in this beloved house ; for Pushmataha 



can boast, and say, and tell the truth, that none 
of his fathers, or grandfathers, or any Choctaw, 
ever drew bow against the United States. They 
have always been friendly. We have held the 
hands of the United States so long, that our nails 
are long like birds' claws ; and there is no danger 
of their slipping out 

Father — I have come to speak. My nation 
has always listened to the applications of the 
white people. They have given of their 
country till it is very small. I came here, 
when a young man, to see my Father Jefferson. 
He told me, if ever we got into trouble, we 
must run and tell him. I am come. This is 
a friendly talk ; it is like that of a man who 
meets another, and says. How do you do? 
Another of my tribe shall talk further. He 
shall say what Pushmataha would say, were he 
stronger. 



SUPPOSED SPEECH OF A CHIEF OF THE POCUMTUG Xm^Xf^^^S.— Edward Everett. 

I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On 

Wtwcen me and thee ! I quit not these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn, 
the land of my fathers but with my Stranger, the land is mine ! I understand not 



'Y' ^HITE man, there is eternal war be- 
tween me and thee ! I quit not 
the land of my fathers but with my 
life. In those woods where I bent 

my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer. 

Over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained 

in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls 



these paper rights. I gave not my consent when, 
as thou sayest, these broad regions were pur- 
chased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They 
could sell what was thei rs ; they could sell no more. 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



227 



How v^v^uld my fathers sell that which the 
Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon ? 
They knew not what they did. The stranger 
came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and 
asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skm, 
and warm himself at the red man's fire, and have 
a little piece of land to raise corn for his women 
and children ; and now he is become strong, and 
mighty, and bold, and sprfeads out his parchment 
over the whole, and says. It is mine. Stranger, 
there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit 
has not made us to live together. There is poison 
in the white man's cup ; the white man's dog 
barks at the red man's heels. 

If I should leave the land of my fathers, 
whither shall I fly ? Shall I go to the South, and 
dwell among the graves of the Pequots ? Shall 
I wander to the West ? — the fierce Mohawk, the 
man-eater, is my foe. Shall I fly to the East ? — 
the great water is before me. No, stranger ; 



here I have lived, and here I will die ! and if 
here thou abidest, there is eternal war between 
me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of 
destruction. For that alone I thank thee ; and 
now take heed to thy steps ; — the red man is thy 
foe. 

When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall 
whistle by thee ; when thou liest down at night, 
my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun 
shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness 
of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou 
shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood ; 
thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew 
it with ashes ; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, 
and I will follow after with the scalping-knife ; 
thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white 
man or the Indian shall cease from the land. 
Go thy way, for this time, in safety ; but remem- 
ber, stranger, there is eternal war between me 
and thee ! 



ALASCO TO HIS COUNTRYMEN.— 5-^^^. 



SOLDIERS, the chief, Malinski, has be- 
betrayed 
His post, and fled. I would that every 
knave 
He has left behind him would strip the patriot 

cloak 
And follow him. Such ruffian spirits taint 
The cause of freedom. They repel its friends, 
And so disfigure it by blood and violence. 
That good men start, and tremble to embrace it. 
But now, my friends, a sterner trial waits us : 
Within yon castle's walls we sleep to-night. 
Or die to-day before them. Let each man 
Preserve the order of advance, and charge 
As if he thought his individual sword 
Could turn the scale of fate. String every heart 
To valor's highest pitch ; — fight, and be free ! 
This is no cosamop conflict, set on foot 



For hireling hosts to ply the trade of war. 

Ours is a noble quarrel. We contend 

For what's most dear to man, wherever found — 

Free or enslaved — a savage, or a sage ; — 

The very life and being of our country. 

'Tis ours to rescue from the oblivious grave, 

Where tyrants have combined to bury them, 

A gallant race, a nation, and her fame ; 

To gather up the fragments of our State, 

And in its cold, dismembered body breathe 

The living soul of empire. Such a cause 

Might warm the torpid earth, put hearts in stones. 

And stir the ashes of our ancestors. 

Till from their tombs our warrior sires come 

forth. 
Range on our side, and cheer us on to battle. 
Strike, then, ye patriot spirits, for your country ! 
Fight, and be free ! — for liberty and Poland 



ARMINIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS.— Murpky. 



SOLDIERS and friends ! we soon shall 
reach the ground 
Where your poor country waits the sac- 
rifice. 
The holiest offering of her children's blood ! 



Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest, 
Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer ; 
No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders 
That we will use our strength to purchase free- 
dom ! 



\2S 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



Freedom — prime blessing of this fleeting life ! — 
Is there a man that hears thy sacred name, 
And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope, 
With proud disdain of tyrant whips and chains? 
Much -injured friends, your slavish hours are past ! 
Conquest is ours ! not that your German swords 
Have keener edges than the Roman falchions ; 
Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor 
Impervious to the swift and deadly lance ; 
Not that your ranks are thicker than the 

Roman ; — 
No, no ; they will outnumber you, my soldiers ; — 
But that your cause is good ! They are poor slaves 



Who fight for hire and plunder, — pampered 

ruffians. 
Who have no soul for glory. JVe are Germans ; 
Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble, 
To keep your glorious birthrights or to die ! 
This is a field where beardless boys might fight, 
And, looking on the angel Liberty, 
Might put such mettle in their tender arms 
That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows. 
I say no more, my dear and trusty friends ! 
Your glorious rallying-cry has music in it, 
To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his t»"^nce, — 
For Freedom and Germania ! 



SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. 



•y yARRIORS and chiefs! should the 

\ A / shaft or the sword 

1l 1l Pierce me in leading the hosts of the 
Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path: 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe. 



that 



-Byron. 
moment 



blood at thy 



Stretch me 

feet! 
Mine be the doom, which they dared not to 

meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part. 
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! 
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, 
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! 



GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS. 

Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master of Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copen- 
hagen ; but he, making his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where he worked at the 
mines like a common slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, he declared himself to the miners and 
peasants, whom he incited to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1527 he gained the 
throne of Sweden. 



SWEDES ! countrymen ! behold at last, 
after a thousand dangers past, your chief, 
Gustavus, here. Long have I sighed ' mid 
foreign bands, long have I roamed in 
foreign lands ; —at length, 'mid Swedish hearts 
and hands, I grasp a Swedish spear ! Yet, look- 
ing forth, although I see none but the fearless 
and the free, sad thoughts the sight inspires ; for 
where, I think, on Swedish ground, save where 
these mountains frown around, can that best 
heritage be found — the freedom of our sires ? — 
Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; the gall- 
ing chain our fathers broke is round our country 
now! On perjured craft and nithless guilt his 
power a tyrant Dane has built, and Sweden's 
crown, all blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow. 



On you your country turns her eyes — on you, 
on you, for aid relies, scions of noblest stem ! 
The foremost place in rolls of fame, by right 
your fearless fathers claim ; yours is the glory 
of their name — 'tis yours to equal them. — As 
rushing down, when winter reigns, resistless to 
the shaking plains, the torrent tears its way, 
and all that bars its onward course sweeps to 
the sea with headlong force, — so swept your 
sires the Dane and Norse : — can j^ do less than 
they ? 

Rise ! reassert your ancient pride, and down 
the hills a living tide of fiery valor pour. Let 
but the storm of battle lower, back to his den 
the foe will cower; — then, then shall Freedom's 
glorious hour strike for our land once more \ 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



229 



What ! silent — motionless, ye stand ? Gleams 
not an eye ? Moves not a hand ? Think ye to 
fly your fate ? Or till some better cause be given, 
wait ye ? — Then wait ! till, banished, driven, ye 
fear to meet the face of Heaven ; till ye are 
slaughtered, wait ! 



But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay the 
thought. Hark ! Hear that bloodhound's bay ! 
Yon blazing village see ! Rise, countrymen ! 
Awake ! Defy the haughty Dane ! Your battle^ 
cry be Freedom ! We will do or die ! On ! 
Death or victory ! 



HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF Y\M{¥\JEXiY{,— Shakespeare. 



ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, 
once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English 
dead ! 
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility : 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head. 



Like the brass cannon. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To its full height ! On, on, you noblest English, 
Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof! 
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; 
Follow your spirit : and upon this charge. 
Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and St. George ! 



GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS.— Tacitus. 

A. D. 14, the Roman soldiers on the lower Rhine mutinied on receiving the news of the death of the 
Emperor Augustus, and the accession of Tiberius. According to Tacitus, the following speech, by 
German^icus, the consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their duty, and restored discipline. 



TO this audience what name shall I give ? 
Can I call you soldiers ? Soldiers ! 
you who have beset with arms the son 
of your emperor — confined him in your 
trenches? Citizens, can I call you? you who 
have trampled under your feet the authority of 
the Senate ; who have violated the most awful 
sanctions, even those which hostile states have 
ever held in respect — the right? of ambassadors 
and the laws of nations ? 

Julius Caesar, by a single word, war able to 
quell a mutiny ; he spoke to the men vho re- 
sisted his authority : he called them Romans, 
and they returned to their allegiance. Augustus 
showed himself to the legions who fought at 
Actium, and the majesty of his countenance 
awed them into submission. The distance be- 
tween myself and these illustrious characters I 
know is great ; and yet, descended from them, 
with their blood in my veins, I should resent 
with indignation a parallel outrage from the 



soldiers of Syria or of Spain ; and will you, men 
of the first and the twentieth legions, — the former 
enrolled by Tiberius himself, the other his con- 
stant companions in so many battles, and by him 
enriched with so many bounties, — ^will you thus 
requite his benefits ? 

From every other quarter of the empire Tibe- 
rius has received none but joyful tidings j and 
must I wound his ears with the news of your 
revolt ? Must he hear from me, that neither the 
soldiers raised by himself, nor the veterans who 
fought under him, are willing to own his author- 
ity ? Must he be told that neither exemptions 
from service, nor money lavishly bestowed, can 
appease the fury of ungrateful men ? Must I 
tell him that here centurions are butchered, trib- 
unes expelled, ambassadors imprisoned ; the 
camp and the rivers polluted with blood ; and 
that a Roman general drags out a precarious ex- 
istence at the mercy of men implacable and mad? 

Wherefore, on the first day that I addressed 



230 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



you, did you wrest from me that sword which I 
was on the point of plunging into my heart? 
Officious friends ! Greater was the kindness of 
that man who proffered me a sword. At all 
events, I should have fallen ere I had become 
aware of the enormities committed by my army. 
You would have chosen a general who, though 
he might leave my death unatoned for, would yet 
avenge the massacre of Varus and his three 
legions. May that revenge be still reserved for 
the Roman sword ! May the gods withhold from 



the Belgic states, though now they court the op- 
portunity, the credit and renown of retrieving 
the Roman name, and of humbling the German 
nations ! May thy spirit, O, deified Augustus ! 
which is received into heaven, — thy image, my 
father Drusus ! — prevail with these soldiers, who, 
even now, I see, are touched with a noble re- 
morse ! May your inspiration dispel the disgrace 
that sits heavy upon them ; and may the rage of 
civil discord discharge itself on the enemies of 
Rome ! 



FAREWELL TO THE ARMY AT FONTAINEBLEAU, \S\^.— Napoleon Bonaparte. 



SOLDIERS ! receive my adieu. During 
twenty years that we have lived to- 
gether, I am satisfied with you. I have 
always found you in the paths of glory. 
All the powers of Europe have armed against 
me. Some of my generals have betrayed their 
trust and France. My country herself has 
wished another destiny : with you, and the other 
brave men who have remained true to me, I 
could have maintained a civil war : but France 
would have been unhappy. 

THE VETERANS.-C^«. 

AS you all know, comrades especially, I 
was but one of those leaders who 
fought in the war. We are veterans, 
and our white hairs tell us that, our 
feelings tell us that, and as we look over the 
crowds here to-day, we old soldiers realize the 
fact, without being told, that our days of fighting 
are past ; that our days of rest and peace from 
the gun arc here, and that we should, every one 
of us, come together on all suitable occasions to 
press each other's hands and look back and 
around us ; to look back and see if that for which 
we fought honestly and truly, that for which we 
left our dead comrades upon the bare pine-fields 
of the South — whether it remains secure to us and 
whether we may now sleep in rest and peace. 

Every man, be he American, English, French, 
or German, was as much interested that America 
should be a free land — to-day free from Main to 
Texas and from Florida to Oregon — as you who 



Be faithful to your new king. Be submissive 
to your new generals ; and do not abandon our 
dear country. Mourn not my fortunes. I shall 
be happy while I am sure of your happiness. I 
might have died ; but if I have consented to live, 
it is still to serve your glory ; I shall record now 
the great deeds which we have done together. 

Bring me the eagle standard ; let me press it 
to my heart. Farewell, my children ; my hearty 
wishes go with you. Preserve me in your 
memories. 

William Tecumseh Sherman. 

are living here in your homes in New Hampshire. 
We fought for mankind. We fought for all the 
earth and for all civilization, and now stand pre- 
eminent among the nations of the earth, with a 
glorious past, a magnificent present and future, 
at which we may all rejoice. 

Anybody can fight with a stranger ; anybody 
can shoot an Indian down, and it is not a very 
hard thing to pull the trigger on a foreigner, but 
when we come to shoot each other, and when we ' 
had to go to fight these Southern friends of ours, 
and sometimes fight in our own streets, that called 
for nerve, and the highest kind of nerve : and ^ 
that is what I want the citizen to bear in mind 
when he looks at soldiers in this country. They 
went out, fought and conquered, and when it was 
done they stopped and went home. 

The war has passed and a new generation has 
I grown up, young men capable of doing as much 
I as those who fought. From the simple mechanic 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



231 



and farmer we can secure as capable men for put- 
ting on the blue and buckling on the cartridge- 
belt and taking a rifle, and if their hearts be in 
the right place and their heads ordinarily clear, 
they can go on the field and be as good men as 
Sheridan, Sherman, and Grant ever were. We 



have yet 50,000,000 such people in America, 
and the work is not done yet. I do not think 
there are any more civil wars before us, but 
we must be prepared for what God brings us 
and be true to ourselves, our country, and our 
God. 



WHAT SAVED THE UNION. 

(Fourth of July Speech of General Grant at Hamburg.) 



I SHARE with you in all the pleasure and 
gratitude which Americans so far away 
should feel on this anniversary. But I 
must dissent from one remark of our 
consul, to the effect that I saved the country 
during the recent war. If our country could be 
saved or ruined by the efforts of any one man, 
we should not have a country, and we should 
not now be celebrating our Fourth of July. 
There are many men who would have done far 
better than I did, under the circumstances in 
which I found myself during the war. If I had 
never held command, if I had fallen, if all our 
generals had fallen, there were ten thousand 
behind us who would have done our work just 
as well, who would have followed the contG't 
to the end, and never surrendered the Union. 
Therefore, it is a mistake and a reflection upon 



the People to attribute to me, . or to any number 
of us who hold high commands, the salvation 
of the Union. We did our work as well as we 
could, so did hundreds of thousands of others. 
We demand no credit for it, for we should have 
been unworthy of our country and of the 
American name if we had not made every sacri- 
fice to save the Union. What saved the. Union 
was the coming forward of the young men of 
the nation. They came from their homes and 
fields, as they did in the time of the Revolu- 
tion, giving everything to the country. To 
their devotion we owe the salvation of the 
Union. The humblest soldier who carried a 
musket is entitled to as much credit for the 
results of the war as those who were in com- 
mand. So long as our young men are animated 
by this spirit there will be no fear for the Union. 



CROMWELL ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES \,— Adapted from Sir E. Bulwer Lyiton, 



BY what law fell King Charles ? By all 
the laws 
He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here 
proclaim it. 
Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye. 
Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed. 
Who spills man's blood, his shall by man be shed ! 
'Tis Heaven's first law ; to that law we had 

come, — 
None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife 
That crimsoned Naseby's field, and Marston's 

moor ? 
It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! 
A victim, in the pit himself had digged ! 
He died not. Sirs, as hated Kings have died. 
In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace 
The one step from their prison to their pall ; 



He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face 
Of the broad heaven ; amidst the sons of Eng- 
land, 
Whom he had outraged ; by a solemn sentence, 
Passed by a solemn Court. Does this seem 

guilt ? 
You pity Charles ! 'tis well ; but pity more 
The tens of thousand honest humble men. 
Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled 
To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field ! 
Good Lord ! when one man dies who wears a 

Crown, 
How the earth trembles, — ^how the Nations gape, 
Amazed and awed ! — ^but when that one man's 

victims. 
Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die. 
In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, 



232 



SPEECHES OF NOTED MILITARY LEADERS. 



Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls 

Drop not one tear from your indifferent eyes ! 

He would have stretched his will 
O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls, 
Fettered the Earth's pure air, — for freedom is 
That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. 
In dust most eloquent, to after time 
A never-silent oracle for Kings ! 
Was this the hand that strained within its grasp 
So haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore 
Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — 
It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes. 
And it can frown not ; schemeless lies the brain 
Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. 
What things are we, O Lord, when, at thy will, 
A worm like this could shake the mighty world ! 

A few years since, and in the port was moored 



s 



WARREN'S 
TAND ! the ground's your own, my 
braves ! 
Will ye give it up to slaves ? 
Will you look for greener graves? 

Hope ye mercy still ? 

What's the mercy despots feel? 

Hear it in that battle peal ! 

Read it on yon bristling steel 1 

Ask it — ye who will. 

Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? 
Will ye to your homes retire ? 
Look behind you ! they're afire ! 
And, before you, see 



A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; 
And I was one of those indignant hearts 
Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. 
Then, that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King !) 
Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride 
Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre 
Waved back the shadow of the death to come. 
Here stands that baffied and forbidden wanderer, 
Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire. 
Beside the coffin of a headless King ! 
He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his 

doom ; — 
He made me captive, — lo ! his narrow cell ! 
So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth 
Of our frail schemes into our funeral urns ; 
So, walking dream-led in Life's sleep, our steps 
Move blindfold to the scaffold or the Throne ! 

ADDRESS. 

Who have done it ! — From the vale 
On they come ! — and will ye quail? — 
Leaden rain and -iron hail 
Let their welcome be ! 

In the God of battles trust ! 

Die we may — and die we must : — 

But, oh, where can dust to dust 

Be consigned so well, 
As where heaven its dews shall shed 
On the martyred patriot's bed. 
And the rocks shall raise their head, 

Of his deeds to tell ? 

PlERPONT, 




Miscellaneous Selections 

CONTAINING 

CHOICE readings, RECITATIONS, DECLAMATIONS AND DIALOGUES 

EMBRACING 

PATRIOTIC, MARTIAL, RELIGIOUS, TEMPERANCE, DRAMATIC, DESCRIPTIVE, 

PATHETIC, HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC SELECTIONS, SUITABLE 

FOR LYCEUMS, SCHOOLS AND GENERAL OCCASIONS 



THE RED KING'S WARNING. 

Historians relate that the death of William Rufus, 
in the New Forest, was preceded by several predic- 
tions clearly announcing his fate. 

T" yiTH hound and horn the wide New For- 

J^ est rung. 

When William Rufus, at the bright 

noon -day. 

Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung. 

And to the chase spurred forth his gallant gray. 

O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; 

But that gray courser, fleeter than the wind. 

Was foremost still — and as the king looked back. 

Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. 

Slow through a distant pass the train defiled ; 

Alone the king rode on — when in mid course, 

Lo ! rushed across his path a figure wild. 

And on his bridle-rein with giant force 

Seized 'f^ then swift pointing to a blighted 

oak, 

Thus to the astonished king his warning spoke : 

"Curb thy race of headlong speed ! 
Backward, backward, turn thy steed ! 
Death is on thy onward track, — 
Turn, O, turn thy courser back ! 

"See'st thou, King, yon aged tree,— 
Blighted now, alas ! like me ? 
Once it bloomed in strength and pride, 
And my cottage stood beside ; 

* The right hand should be here thrust forward, as in the 
act of grasping the bridle, while the other hand should be 
extended, pointing to the supposed object. There should be 
a suspensive pause at "Seized." 



"Till on Hastings' fatal field 
England's baleful doom was sealed ! 
Till the Saxon stooped to own 
Norman lord on English throne ! 

"Where the forest holds domain, 
Then were fields of golden grain ; 
Hamlets then and churches stood 
Where we see the wide waste wood. 

" But the Norman king must here 
Have his wood to hunt his deer. 

What were we ? He waved his hand. 

And we vanished from the land. 

" Fiercely burned my rising ire 
When I saw our cots on fire ! 
When ourselves were forced to fly, 
Or to beg, or rob, or die ! 

"Then on William's head abhorred, 

Then my deepest curse I poured. 

Turning to this aged oak, 
Thus in madness wild I spoke : 

" ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, 

Grant an injured Saxon's prayer] 

Ne'er may one of William's racs. 
Pass alive this fatal place ! 

" ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, 
Give a sign ye grant my prayer ! 
Give ! O, give ! ' While yet I spoke, 



Lightning struck yon witness oak 



233 



23-4 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



**Shun, O King ! thy certain lot !- 
Fly with speed the fatal spot ! — 



Here to death thy uncle passed ; 

Here thy nephew breathed his last ! 

"Yes, my curse has worked too well ! 
Sorrow seized me when they fell. 
Would, O would I might revoke 
What in madness wild I spoke ! 

" Monarch ! to my words give heed. 



\ "ickward, — backward turn thy steed ! 
ganger, death, beset thee round ; 
Chase not on the fated ground ! ' ' 

"Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer ! 
Think' st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart 

with fear? — 
Think' St thou with idle threats to bar my way ? — 
— I scorn thy warning ! — On my gallant gray !" 
He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side. 
When from the blighted oak as he advanced, 
Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : 
The blood gushed forth, — he fell ! he groaned ! 
he DIED ! Anon, (^altered). 

CCEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF 
HIS FATHER. 

The body of Henry II. lay in state in the abbey- 
church of Fontevrault. where it was visited by Richard 
Coeur de Lion, who, on beholding it, was struck with 
horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself 
for that rebellions conduct which had been the means 
of bringing his father to an untimely death. 

TORCHES were blazing clear. 
Hymns pealing deep and slow. 
Where a king lay stately on his bier 
In the church of Fontevrault, 
Banners of battle o'er him hung, 

And warriors slept beneath. 
And light as noon's broad light was flung 
On the settled face of death, — 

On the settled face of death 

A strong and ruddy glare ; 
Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, 

Vet it fell still brightest there ; 
As if each deeply furrowed trace 

Of earthly years to show. 



Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race 
Had surely closed in woe ! 

The marble floor was swept 

By many a long dark stole. 
As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, 

Sang mass for the parted soul ; 
And solemn were the strains they poured 

Through the stillness of the night. 
With the cross above, and the crown and sword, 

And the silent king in sight. 

There was heard a heavy clang. 

As of steel-girt men the tread, 
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang 

With a sounding thrill of dread ; 
And the holy chant was hushed awhile, 

As by the torch's flame, 
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle 

With a mail-clad leader came. 

He came with haughty look. 

An eagle glance and clear ; 
But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook 

When he stood beside the bier ! 
He stood there still with a drooping brow, 

And clasped hands o'er it raised; 
For his father lay before him low, 

It was Coeur de Lion gazed ! 

And silently he strove' 

With the workings of his breast ; 
But there's more in late repentant love 

Than steel may keep suppressed ! 
And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain, 

Men held their breath in awe. 
For his face was seen by his warrior-train, 

And he recked not that they saw. 

He looked upon the dead. 

And sorrow seemed to lie,— 
A weight of sorrow, even like lead. 

Pale on the fast-shut eye. 
He stooped and kissed the frozen cheek, 

And the heavy hand of clay, 
Till bursting words — yet all too weak — 

Gave his soul's passion way. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



235 



" O father ! is it vain, 

This late remorse and deep? 
Speak to me, father, once again ! 

I weep, — behold, I weep ! 
Alas ! my guilty pride and ire. 

Were but this work undone, 
I would give England's crown, my sire. 

To hear thee bless thy son. 

<* Speak to me ! mighty grief 

Ere now the dust hath stirred ! 
Hear me, but hear me ! — father, chief, 

My king, I must be heard ! 
Hushed, hushed, — how is it that I call, 

And that thou answerest not? 
When was it thus, woe, woe for all 

The love my soul forgot ! 

** Thy silver hairs I see. 

So still, so sadly bright ! 
And father, father ! but for me. 

They had not been so white ! 
I bore thee down, high heart, at last ! 

No longer couldst thou strive ; — 
Oh, for one moment of the past. 

To kneel and say, — '■ Forgive I* 

' ' Thou wert the noblest king 

On royal throne e'er seen; . 
And thou didst wear in knightly ring. 

Of all, the stateliest mien ; 
And thou didst prove, where spears are proved. 

In war, the bravest heart. 
Oh, ever the renowned and loved 

Thou wert, — and there thou art ! 

*^ Thou that my boyhood's gm.6^ 

Didst take fond joy to be ! 
ITie times I've sported at thy side. 

And climbed thy parent kneeC 
And there before the blessed shrine, 

My sire, I see thee lie ; 
How will that sad still face of thine 

Look on me till I die ! " 

Felicia Remans. 



CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF 
HIS SON. 

The opening line of the following should be 
tittered with emotion, and with eyes and hands 
elevated. At the second line the speaker may take 
a step forward, as if to meet the body. He is to 
imagine friends around him, and, in places, to ad- 
dress them. The beautiful climax, beginning ** The 
mistress of the world," etc., should be spoken with 
animation ; the voice rising at each successive step 
of the climax. In the sixth line from the end of the 
extract, at the words "brave youth," the speaker 
may point to where the dead body is supposed to lie. 

THANKS to the Gods ! my boy has done 
his duty. 
Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my 
friends, 
Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure 
The bloody corse, and count those glorious 

wounds. 
How beautiful is D^ath when earned by 

Virtue ! 
Who would not be that youth / what pity is it 
That we can die but once to serve our country ! 
Why sits this sadness on your brows, my 

friends ? 
I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood 
Secure and flourished in a civil war. 

Fortius, behold thy brother, and remember 

Thy life is not thy own, when Rome demands it. 

Alas, my friends ! 
Why mourn you thus ? Let not a private loss 
Afflict your hearts. 'Tis Rome requires oui 

tears. 
The mistress of the world, the seat of empire 
The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods. 
That humbled the proud tyrants of the earth. 
And set the nations free, — Rome is no more ! 
O, liberty ! O virtue ! O, my country ! 
Whate'er the Roman virtue has subdued. 
The sun's whole course, the day and year, are 

Caesar's ! 
For him the self-devoted Decii died, 
The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered : 
Even Pompey fought for Caesar. O, my friends ! 
How is the toil of fate, the work of ages, 
The Roman empire fallen ! O, cursed ambition ! 
Fallen into Caesar's hands ! our great forefathers 
Had left him naught to conquer but his country. 



23«3 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Lose not a thought on me, — I'm out of danger : 
Heaven will not ieave me in the victor's hand. 
Cresar shall never say, ' ' I conquered Cato ! ' ' 

But, O ! my friends, your safety fills my 

heart 
With anxious thoughts : a thousand secret terrors 
Rise in my soul : how shall I save my friends ? 
'Tis now, O Cnesar, I begin to fear thee ! 
Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you 
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency. 
Know, there are ships prepared by my command 
(Their sails already opening to the winds) 
That shall convey you to the wished for port. 

Is there aught else, my friends, I can do 

for you? 
The conqueror draws near. Once more, fare- 
well ! 
If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet 
In happier climes, and on a safer shore. 
Where Caesar never shall approach us more. 
There the brave youth, with love of virtue fired, 
Who greatly in his country's cause expired, 
Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot 

there, 
Who made the welfare of mankind his care. 
Though still by Faction, Vice, and Fortune crost, 
^■hall find the generous labor — was not lost. 

Addison. 

Z:>ESAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO. 

(Dialogue between Decius and Cato.) 

Decius. Ccesar sends health to Cato. 

Cato. Could he send it 
To Cato's slaughtered friends, it would be wel- 
come. 
Are not your orders to address the Senate ? 

Dec. My business is with Cato, Caesar sees 
The straits to which you're driven; and, as he 

knows 
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. 

Cafo. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome. 
Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his country. 
Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato 
Disdains a life which he has power to offer. 

Dec. Rome and her senators submit to Ccesar ; 
Her generals and her consuls are no more, 



Who checked his conquests, and denied hi> 

triumphs. 
Why will not Cato be this Caesar's friend? 
Cafo. Those very reasons thou hast urged Sqt 

bid it. 
Dec. Cato, I've orders to expostulate, 
And reason with you, as from friend to friend. 
Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head. 
And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; 
Still may you stand high in your country's honors • 
Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar^ 
Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, 
As on the second of mankind. 

Cato. No more ; 
I must not thihk of life on such conuitions. 
Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your vir 
tues. 
And therefore sets this value on your life : 
Let him but know the price of Cato's frieivishio 
And name your terms. 

Cato. Bid him disband his legions, 
Restore the commonwealth to liberty, 
Submit his actions to the public censure. 
And stand the judgment of a Roman Senate ' 
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. 

Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of you* 

wisdom — 
Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice wa." 
ne'er employed 
To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes. 
Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, 
And strive to gain his pardon from the people. 
Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. 
Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a 

Roman. 
Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe? 
Cato. Greater than Caesar, he's a friend to 

virtue. 
Dec. Consider, Cato, you're in Utica, 
And at the head of your own little Senate ; 
You don't now thunder in the Capitol, 
With all the mouths of Rome to second you. 
Cato. Let him consider that who drives U5 
hither ; 
'Tis Caesar's sword has made Rome's Sen?r<» 
little, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



23' 



Ana chiniicv* .^^ .anks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye 
Teholds this man in a false glaring light, 
Which conquest and success have thrown upon 

him ; 
Didst thou but view him right, thou'dst see him 

black 
With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes 
That strike my soul with horror but to name them. 
I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch 
Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes j 
But, as I love my country, millions of worlds 
Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. 
Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to 
Csesar, 
For all his generous cares and proffered friend- 
ship ? 
Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain : 
Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. 
AVould Csesar show the greatness of his soul, 
Bid him employ his care for these my friends; 
And make good use of his ill-gotten power, 
By sheltering men much better than himself. 

Addison. 

C^.TILINE'S DEFIANCE 

To the Roman Senate on the following decree being 
read by the Consul ; " lyucius Sergiiis Catiline, by 
the decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy 
and an alien to the State, and banished from the 
territory of the Commonwealth." 

BANISHED from Rome !— what's banished 
but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe? 
** Tried and convicted traitor!"* — Who says 

this? 
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
Banished? — I thank you for't. It breaks my 

chain ! 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my 

lords ! 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up. 
To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you : — ^here I fling 

*Here he quotes the words of Cicero against bim. 



Hatred and full defiance in your face. 

Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks. 

He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 

' ' Traitor ! " I go — but I return. This — trial ! 

Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs. 

To stir a fever in the blood of age, 

Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 

This day's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's 

work 
Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, 

my lords. 
For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tar'tarus ! — all shames and 

crimes ; — 
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax. 
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave 1 

Rev. George Croly. 

THE FOUR KISSESa 

(By permission of the Author.) 

A BABY on a woman's breast. 
Has fallen asleep in peaceful rest ; 
With tender care she lays it down, 
Draws o'er its feet the tiny gown ; 
Then, thrilled with love, with holy bliss. 
Bends low and gives 

A mother's kiss. 

With blushing cheeks, with downcast eyes 
A maiden struggles, softly sighs. 
Then yields. And from her fancy's flow 
Drinks deep the joy that angels know ; 
Thus two hearts learn the rapturous bliss 
That comes to all, with 

Love's first kiss. 

A troop halts at a cottage door, 

A young wife craves one moment more ; 

Her husband draws her to his side, 

** Thou art," says he, ''a soldier's bride; 

O love, I can but give thee this — 

And this — and this — 

My farewell kiss.** 



238 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



The lamps shed forth a tender light 
Upon a sweet face, cold and white ; 
The flowers lie strewn, the dirge is sung. 
The rite is o'er, the bell has rung : 
God help them, by that dread abyss, 
Who sobbing press 

The last sad kiss. 
Geo. M. Vickers. 

THE DRUMMER BOY. 

(Pathetic. An incident of the Crimean War. ) 

* /CAPTAIN GRAHAM, the men were sayin' 
V,^^ Ye would want a drummer lad. 
So I've brought my boy Sandie 
Tho' my heart is woful sad : 
3ut nae bread is left to feed us, 

And no siller to buy more. 
For the gudeman sleeps forever, 
Where the heather blossoms o'er. 

"Sandie, make your manners quickly, 
Play your blithest measure true — 
Give us * Flowers of Edinboro',' 

While yon fifer plays it too. 
Captain, heard ye e'er a player 
Strike in tru ^r time than he ? " 
*' Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray 
Drummer of our corps shall be." 

•* I give ye thanks — but. Captain, maybe 

Ye will hae a kindly care 
For the friendless, lonely laddie, 

When the battle wark is sair ; 
For Sandie's aye been good and gentle, 

And I've nothing else to love, 
Nothing — but the grave off yonder. 

And the Father up above. ' ' 

Then her rough hand gently laying 

On the curl-encircled head, 
She blest her boy. The tent was silent, 

And not another word was said ; 
For Captain Graham was sadly dreaming 

Of a benison long ago. 
Breathed above his head, then golden. 

Bending now, and touched with snow. 



'Good-bye, Sandie." *' Good-bye, mother ; 

I'll come back some summer day ; 
Don't you fear — they don't shoot drummers 

Ever. Do they. Captain Gra — ? 
One more kiss — watch for me, mother. 

You will know 'tis surely me, 
Coming home — for you will hear me 

Playing soft the reveille." 

After battle. Moonbeams ghastly 

Seemed to link in strange affright, 
As the scudding clouds before them 

Shadowed faces dead and white ; 
And the night wind softly whispered, 

When low moans its light wing bore- 
Moans that ferried spirit-s over 

Death's dark wave to yonder shore. 

Wandering where a footstep careless 

Might go splashing down in blood, 
Or a helpless hand lie grasping 

Death and daisies from the sod — 
Captain Graham walked swift onward. 

While a faintly-beaten drum 
Quickened heart and step together : 

" Sandie Murray ! See, I come ! 



** Is it thus I find you, laddie? 
Wounded, lonely, lying here. 
Playing thus the reveille ? 

See — the morning is not near." 
A moment paused the drummer boy. 
And lifted up his drooping head : 
*' Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming, 
'Tis morning, and my prayers are said. 

** Morning ! See, the plains grow brighter- 
Morning — and I'm going home ; 

That is why I play the measure. 
Mother will not see me come ; 

But you'll tell her, won't you. Captain — ' 
Hush, the boy has spoken true ; 

To him the day has dawned forever^ 
Unbroken by the night's tattoo. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIOl^fS. 



f^Of) 



To A skeleton; 

Tlie MSS. of this poem was found in the Museum 
of the Royal College of Surgeons, in London, near a 
perfect human skeleton, and sent by the curator to 
the Morning Chronicle for publication. It excited 
so much attention that every effort was made to dis- 
cover the author, and a responsible party went so far 
as to offer fifty guineas for information that would 
discover its origin. The author preserved his incog- 
nito, and, we believe, has never been discovered. 

BEHOLD this ruin ! 'Twas a skull, 
Once of ethereal spirit full. 
This narrow cell was life's retreat, 
This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot, 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot ? 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear. 
Have left one trace of record here, 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye ; 

But start not at the dismal void ; 

If social love that eye employed. 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed. 

But through the dews of kindness beamed, — 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and sun are sunk in night. 

Within this hollow cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue ; 

If falsehood's honey it disdained. 

And when it could not praise was chained ; 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke. 

Yet gentle concord never broke, — 

This silent tongue shall plead for thee 

When time unveils eternity ! 

Say, did these fingers delve the mine, 
Or with the envied rubies shine ? 
To hew the rock or wear a gem 
Can little now avail to them. 
But if the page of truth they sought. 
Or comfort to the mourner brought. 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
^han all that wait on wealth and fame. 

ivails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the paths of duty trod ? 
If from the bowers of ease they fled, 
To seek affliction's humble shed ; 



If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned. 
And home to virtue's cot returned, — 
These feet with angel wings shall vie. 
And tread the palace of the sky ! 

BETTY AND THE BEAR. 

(Humorous.) 

IN a pioneer's cabin out West, so they say, 
A great big black grizzly trotted one day, 
And seated himself on the hearth, and 

began. 
To lap the contents of a two-gallon pan 
Of milk and potatoes, — an excellenc meal, — 
And then looked about to see what he could steal. 
The lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep. 
And, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep 
Just out in the kitchen, to see what was there. 
And was scared to behold a great grizzly bear. 

So he screamed in alarm to his slumbering yr^2E/, 
*' Thar's a bar in the kitching as big's a cow !" 
' 'K what ?" "■ Why a bar ! " '' Well, murder 

him, then !" 
*'Yes, Betty, I will, if you'll first venture in." 
So Betty leaped up, and the poker she seized, 
While her man shut the door, and against it he 

squeezed. 

As Betty then laid on the grizzly her blows. 
Now on his forehead, and now on his nose. 
Her man through the key-hole kept shouting 

within, 
** Well done, my brave Betty, now hit him agin. 
Now a rap on the ribs, now a knock on the snout, 
Now poke with the poker, and poke his eyes out. ' ' 
So, with rapping and poking, poor Betty alone^ 
At last laid Sir Bruin as dead as a stone. 

Now when the old man saw the bear was no more. 
He ventured to poke his nose out of the door, 
And there was the grizzly, stretched on the floor. 
Then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell 
All the wonderful things that that morning befell , 
And he published the marvellous story afar, 
How ^'me and my Betty jist slaughtered a bar ! 
O yes, come and see, all the neighbors hev sid it., 
Come see what we did, me and Betty, we did it. ' ' 



I'll) 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



FAREWELL. 

(By permission of Geo. M. Vickers, the Author.) 

{Lei the first stanza of the song be sung by a quartette. The music then ceases, while two stanzas of the 
poem, ''Farewell'' is recited. As the speaker closes the second stanza, the quartette immediately sings the 
second stanza ; and, as they sing the words " ever bind me,'' the speaker resumes his recitation, and speaks the 
last two stanzas, during which some soft accompaniment may be played on the instrument. ) 



"T" T'lTH white sails set the vessels glide 
yV Fast onward o'er the drifting tide. 

'Tis now while near and yet in view 
That still is heard the fond adieu ; 
'Tis now that lips and gestures tell 
The heart's good -by, the sad farewell ! 

To-night, when sails to sight are lost 
And gloomy darkness veils the coast ; 
To-night, when children fast asleep 
Forget who sails the lonely deep. 
To one will sound, like funeral knell. 
Her husband's dreaded word, farewell. 



The helmsman as he grasps the wheel 
The sea spray on his cheek can feel. 
And to his mind each drop appears 
The moisture of his loved ones' tears ; 
And in a song he tries to quell 
The sadness of their sweet farewell. 

Each day the word farewell is said, 

The silent, parting tear is shed ; 

And so each day warm hearts unite. 

Some home is reached, some eye made bright \ 

What glooms the word is, none can tell 

Which time 'twill be a last farewell. 



THE AMERICAN'S FAREWELL. 



G. M. V. 



QUARTETTE. 



GEO. M. VICKERS. 



This beautiful quartette is the first American farewell song ever written, and furnishes something that 
has long been wanted by tourists and others departing from our shores. In the event of a war with a foreign 
country, it would have a peculiar significance to our soldiers and sailors. The author, Geo. M. Vickers, has 
composed many patriotic songs, among them being •'Guard the Flag," " Columbia, My Country," the new 
music for "America," etc. 




\-^ 



m. 



1. Fare - well, fare- well, my 

2. Fare - well, fare-well, each 



m 



Moderaio con esprcssionc. 





Piano. P 






MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



241 



^i^^^^^^ 



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own dear land, This heart will ne'er de -ceive fhee, And as I watch thy fad - ing strand I 
faith-ful heart, What joy when-e'er I met thee; And, oh, what pain it is to part, Yet 




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:a=S- 



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5E^gE 



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sigh he-cause I leave thee; The home I prize, the tear- ful eyes. The ties I leave be- 
I shall ne'er for - get thee! A - mer - i - ca, how sweet thy name ; Still true thou'lt ev-er 




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— p -•— ; — -^ — " — m 1 1 1 •(- -^ m — ^ — ^' 



hind 
find 



me, Though years I roam 'neath for - eign skies, To thee in love shall ev - er bind me. 
me; O land a -glow with freedom's flame. To thee my love shall ev-er bind me. 




Cvpyrigbt, 1896, by Qeo. M. Yickers, Pbila. 



16 



142 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. 

(Suited to Soldier's reunion.) 

WILD blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, 
As a soldier lay stretched in his cell ; 
And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's 
silver light 
On his countenance dreamily fell. 
Naught could she reveal, but a man true as 
steel, 
That oft for his country had bled ; 
And the glance of his eye might the grim king 
defy. 
For despair, fear, and trembling had fled. 

But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow 

At a tyrant who held him in scorn ; 
And his fate soon was sealed, for alas ! honest 
Joe 
Was to die on the following morn. 
Oh ! sad was the thought to a man that had 
fought 
'Mid the ranks of the gallant and brave, — 
To be shot through the breast at a coward's be- 
hest. 
And laid low in a criminal's grave ! 

The nighl call had sounded, when Joe was 
aroused 
By a step at the door of his cell ; 
*Twas a comrade -u-'th whom he had often 
caroused, 
ITiat now entered to bid him farewell. 
**Ah, Tom ! is it you come to bid me adieu ? 

*Tis kind, my lad ! give me your hand ! 
Nay — nay — don't get wild, man, and make me a 
child !— 
I'll be soon in a happier land !" 

With hands clasped in silence, Tom mournfully 
; said, 

** Have you any request, Joe, to make? — 
Remember by me 'twill be fully obeyed : 

Can I anything do for your sake ?' ' 
"When it's over, to-morrow!" he said, filled 
with sorrow, 

** Send this token to her whom I've sworn 



All my ^ond love to share ! " -—'twas a lock of 
his hair. 
And a prayer-book, all faded and worn. 

** Here's this watch for my mother; and when 
you write home," — 
And he dashed a bright tear from his eye — 
" Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, 
Tom, 
Like a man, and a soldier ! — Good bye !" 
Then the sergeant on guard at the grating ap- 
peared. 
And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell. 
By the moon's waning light, with a husky 
'' Good night ! 
God be with you, dear comrade ! — farewell !" 

Gray dawned the morn in a dull cloudy sky, 

When the blast of a bugle resounded ; 
And Joe ever fearless, went forward to die. 
By the hearts of true heroes surrounded. 
' ' Shoulder arms ' ' was the cry as the prisoner 
passed by : 
'* To the right about — march!" was the 
word; 
And their pale faces proved how their comrade 
was loved, 
And by all his brave fellows adored. 

Right onward they marched to the dread field of 
doom : 

Sternly silent, they covered the ground ; 
Then they formed into line amid sadness and 
gloom. 

While the prisoner looked calmly around. 
Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer. 

And faint tolled the solemn death-knell. 
As he stood on the sand, and with uplifted hand. 

Waved the long and the lasting farewell. 

** Make ready !" exclaimed an imperious voice : 

''Present!" struck a chill on each 

mind ; 
Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to 
rejoice. 
For ' ' Hold ! — hold ! ' ' cried a voice from be- 
)lind. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy, 
As a horseman cried, " Mercy ! — Forbear!" 

With a thrilling '* Hurrah ! — a free pardon ! — 
huzzah ! ' ' 
And the muskets rang loud in the air. 

Soon the comrades were locked in each other's 
embrace : 
No more stood the brave soldiers dumb : 
With a loud cheer they wheeled to the right- 
about-face. 

Then away at the sound of the drum ! 

And a brighter day dawned in sweet Devon's fair 
land. 
Where the lovers met never to part ; 
And he gave her a token — true, warm, and un- 
broken — 
The gift of his own gallant heart ! 

James Smith. 

THE LAST STATION. 

(Pathetic reading. ) 

HE had been sick at one of the hotels for 
three or four weeks, and the boys on the 
road dropped in daily to see how he got 
along, and to learn if they could render him any 
kindness. The brakeman was a good fellow, 
and one and all encouraged him in the hope that 
he would pull through. The doctor didn't 
regard the case as dangerous ; but the other day 
the patient began sinking, and it was seen that 
he could not live the night out. A dozen of his 
friends sat in the room when night came, but 
his mind wandered, and he did not recognize 
them. 

It was near one of the depots, and after the 
great trucks and noisy drays had ceased rolling 
by, the bells and short, sharp whistles of the 
yard-engines sounded painfully loud. The 
patient had been very quiet for half an hour, 
when he suddenly unclosed his eyes and shouted : 

^'Kal-a-ma-zoo! " 

One of the men brushed the hair back from 
the cold forehead, and the brakeman closed his 
eyes, and was quiet for a time. Then the wind 
whirled around the depot and banged the blinds 



on the window of his room, and he lifted his 
hand, and cried out : 

' ' Jack-son ! Passengers going north by the 
Saginaw Road change cars ! ' ' 

The men understood. The brakeman thought 
he was coming east on the Michigan Central. 
The effort seemed to have greatly exhausted 
him, for he lay like one dead for the next five 
minutes, and a watcher felt for his pulse to see if 
life had not gone out. A tug going down the 
river sounded her whistle loud and long, and 
the dying brakeman opened his eyes and called 
out : 

** Ann Arbor! " 

He had been over the road a thousand times, 
but had made his last trip. Death was drawing 
a spectral train over the old track, and he was 
brakeman, engineer and conductor. 

One of the yard -engines uttered a shrill 
whistle of warning, as if the glare of the head- 
light had shown to the engineer some stranger in 
peril, and the brakeman called out : 

'' Yp-silanti ! Change cars here for the Eel 
River Road! " 

*' He is coming in fast, ' ' whispered one of the 
men. 

* 'And the end of his ' run ' will be the end of 
his life," said a second. 

The dampness of death began to collect on 
the patient's forehead, and there was that 
ghastly look on the face that death always 
brings. The slamming of a door down the hall 
startled him again, and he moved his head, and 
faintly said : 

'^ Grand Trunk Junction ! Passengers going 
east by the Grand Trunk change cars 1 ' ' 

He was so quiet after that that all the men 
gathered around the bed, believing that he was 
dead. His eyes closed, and the brakeman lifted 
his hand, moved his head, and whispered : 

**De— " 

Not ''Detroit," but Death! He died with 
the half-uttered whisper on his lips. And the 
headlight on death's engine shone full in his 
face, and covered it with suc^ pallor as naught 
but death can bring. 




She was one of those -wretched creaturee 

Whose lives are made up of sin, 
Whose crimes are all seen on the surfac^^ 

But none of the good within. 
Tom Scott was the judge and spokesman. 

And he briefly lined out his case 
That the woman was guilty of morder, 

Cowardly, cruel and base. 

A man had been found in a thicke4 

With a bullet-hole through his head ; 
Still the blood firom the wound was flowing 

But the sx>ark of his life had fled : 
While the party that found him wondered 

Who fired the fatal shot, 
This woman was silently stealing . 

Away from the dreadful spot 



244 







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W^::-r:M 



- No doubt she'd have robbed the body, 
But, hearing them, took alann ; 
In her hand she stiU held this pistol, 

It was empty, the barrel was warm. 
When the witnesses asked why she did it, 
_ She uttered a piercing shriek, 

But in spite of their threats and questions 
Not a word would the woman speak. 

An old man, pale and grizzled. 

Then pushed to the open place 
In the circle of angry miners, 

And glanced at each threatening face. 
" Let me speak, for I am a witness. 

And my strength is failing fast, 
Let me speak for the sake of justice 

Ere the power to speak is past 

*' Stop t Let ns look behind us, 

Through the mist of time and tears, 
Till we view the golden sunlight 
That in by-gone days appears , 
Far away in the past a maiden, 
The pride of her happy home, 
Sings only of love's devotion, 
Dreams only of joys to come. 

" Her heart has been won by a stranger, 

Who calls her his love, his life, 
And vows that he woos with honor. 

That he'U make her his darling wife ; 
But the old folks' hearts are heavy, 

For they see that he se«ns not true ; 
In spite of his words soft spoken, 

They fear that their child will me. 

" One morning they found a letter, 
On the open Bible it lay ; 
It asked for their kind forgiveness 

And told that she'd gone away. 
The mother was broken-hearted, 

And the grief of them both was wild ; 
But the father kneeled down by the Bible, 
And swore that he'd find his child. 



" 'Twas the old, oft-told sad story 

Of a woman's unbounded love, 
A tale of a cruel deception, 

Of a fiend that no tears could move. 
At last she was left to wander. 

Thousands of miles away 
From her childhood home and loved ones, 

With no place her poor head to lay. 




7A 



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Two mineis then sprang beside him 

And seated him on the ground, 
Then the jnry and those about them 

Leaned forward to catch each sound. 
" / am that poor girl's father,'' 

The old man whispered in pain, 
" Ajid to save her I shot that monster, 

Or my child he would quick have filain. 



f*"«fcr 



"But her fatherforyearshad sought her, -^ 

Wondering where she could be, 
Till he suddenly came upon her 

'Mid those rocks that you all can see : 
In the road through the thicket below tbemi 

He foxmd her in deadly strife, 
Trying to flee from the villain 

Who promised to make her his riie. 

" The father in terror shouted, 

Then the fiend, in his rage and -ear. 
Leveled hia pistol and fired. 

And the bullet — it struck me here.'' 
Then the old man bared his bosom 

And a ghastly wound revealed ; 
His voice was becoeoing weaker, 

Like a drunken man he reeled. 



" When he fell she grasped liis pistol, 

And speeded for help away ; 
'Twas then that these miners saw her 
Where the dead man's body lay. 
I was there, but too weak to utter 
A word or a feeble cry, 
^^ But their hands could with ease have touched me 
^^ As they silently passed me by." 



6i 



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K* **r 



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Tom Scott then addressed the jury, 

fie told them the case was clear, 
And he turned to the weeping woman 

To conceal an uprising tear ; 
In his face there was just enough shadow 

To soften his bright blue eye, 
In his voice there was just enough sadnea 

To hint at a pain gone by. 

•* Is she guilty ? " be asked the jury. 
In tones that were soft and low, 

But the answer came swift as lightning 
In a thundering, mighty " No ! " 

The village is gone, and the actors — 
God knows if one living there be ; 

And in Dead Man's Gulch, so gloomy. 
But one lonely grave you'll see. 




MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



247 



I 



LADY CLARE. 

T was the time when liHes blow, 
And clouds are highest up in air, 

Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe. 
To give his cousin, Lady Clare. 



I trow they did not part in scorn ; 

Lovers long betrothed were they ; 
They two will wed the morrow morn ; 

God's blessing on the day ! 

**.He does not love me for my birth, 

Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; 
He loves me for my own true worth. 
And that is well, ' ' said Lady Clare. 

In there came old Alice, the nurse, 

Said, ' * Who was this that went from thee ? ' ' 
'*It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 
** To-morrow he weds with me." 

**0h, God be thank' d," said Alice the nurse, 
** That all comes round so just and fair. 
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. 
And you are not the Lady Clare." 

**Are you out of your mind, my nurse, my 
nurse ? ' * 

Said Lady Clare, '^ that ye speak so wild? *' 
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 

* ' I speak the truth ; you are my child. 

*' The old Earl's daughter died at my breast 
I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 
I buried her like my own sweet child 
And put my child in her stead. ' ' 

** Falsely, falsely have ye done. 

Oh mother, ' ' she said ; *Mf this be true. 
To keep the best man under the sun 
So many years from his due." 

"Nay, now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
" But keep the secret for your life. 
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's 
When you are man and wife. ' ' 



*' If I'm a beggar born," she said, 

*' I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 
Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold. 
And fling the diamond necklace by. ' ' 

'* Nay, now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
*' But keep the secret all you can." 
She said, ' * Not so ; but I will know 
If there be any faith in man. ' ' 

**Nay, now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, 
" The man will cleave unto his right." 

' 'And he shall have it, ' ' the lady replied, 
" Though I should die to-night." 

*' Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 

Alas, my child, I sinned for thee. ' ' 
**0h, mother, mother, mother," she said, 

'' So strange it seems to me. 

'^ Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear. 
My mother dear, if this be so, 
And lay your hand upon my head. 
And bless me, mother, ere I go." 

She clad herself in a russet gown. 

She was no longer Lady Clare : 
She went by dale, and she went by down. 

With a single rose in her hair. 

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 

Leapt up from where she lay, 
Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 

And follow' d her all the way. 

Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower ; 

** Oh, Lady Clare you shame your worth I 
Why come you drest like a village-maid. 

That are the flower of the earth ? ' ' 

'* If I come drest like a village-maid, 
I am but as my fortunes are : 
I am a beggar-born, " she said, 
"And not the Lady Clare." 

" Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
" For I am yours in word and in deed, 
Play me no tricks, ' ' said Lord Ronald, 
" Your riddle is hard to read," 



/ 



248 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Oh, and proudly stood she up ! 

Her heart within her did not fail ; 
She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, 

And told him all her nurse's tale. 

He laughed a laugh of merry scorn ; 

He turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood ; 
** If you are not the heiress born, 

And I," said he, ** the next in blood — 

** If you are not the heiress born, 

And I," said he, " the lawful heir, 
We two will wed to-morrow morn, 
And you shall still be Lady Clare." 

Alfred Tennyson 

PUTTING UP C THE STOVE; 

Or, The Rime of the Economical Householder. 
(Humorous.) 

THE melancholy days have come that no 
householder loves. 
Days of taking down of blinds and put- 
ting up of stoves ; 
The lengths of pipe forgotten lie in the shadow 

of the shed. 
Dinged out of symmetry they be and all with 

rust are red ; 
The husband gropes amid the mass that he placed 

there anon. 
And swears to find an elbow-joint and eke a leg 
are gone. 

So fared it with good Mister Brown, when his 

spouse remarked : ' * Behold ! 
Unless you wish us all to go and catch our deaths 

of cold. 
Swift be yon stove and pipes from out their 

storing place conveyed. 
And to black-lead and set them up, lo ! I will 

lend my aid." 

This, Mr. Brown, he trembling heard, I trow his 

heart was sore. 
For he was married many years, and had been 

there before, 
And timidly he said, **My love, perchance, the 

better plan 
'Twere to hie to the tinsmith's shop and bid him 

send a man?" 



His spouse replied indignantly : ' ' So you would 
have me then 

To waste our substance upon riotous tinsmith's 
journeymen ? 

^A penny saved is twopence earned,' rash prodi- 
gal of pelf, 

Go ! false one, go ! and I will black and set it 
up myself. ' ' 

When thus she spoke the husband knew that she 

had sealed his doom ; 
'^ Fill high the bowl with Samian lead and gim ne 

down that broom," 
He cried ; then to the outhouse marched. Apart 

the doors he hove 
And closed in deadly conflict with his enemy, 

the stove. 

Round I. 

They faced each other ; Brown, to get an open- 
ing sparred 

Adroitly. His antagonist was cautious — on its 
guard. 

Brown led off with his left to where a length of 
stove-pipe stood, 

Aud nearly cut his fingers off. {^T^^' stove al- 
lowed first blood. ) 

Round 2. 

Brown came up swearing, in Graeco-Roman 

style 
Closed with the stove, and tugged and strove at 

it a weary while ; 
At last the leg he held gave way ; flat on his 

back fell Brown, 
And the stove fell on top of him and claimed 

the First Knock-down. 

* * * The fight is done and Brown has won ; 

his hands are rasped and sore. 
And perspiration and black lead stream from his 

every pore ; 
Sternly triumphant, as he gives his prisoner a 

shove. 
He cries, ''Where, my good angel, shall I put 

this blessed stove ? " 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



2i0 



And calmly Mrs. Brown to him she indicates 
the spot, 

And bids him keep his temper, and remarks that 
he looks hot, 

x\nd now comes in the sweat o' the day ; the 
Brown holds in his gripe 

And strives to fit a six-inch joint into a five- 
inch pipe ; 

He hammers, dinges, bends, and shakes, while 
his wife scornfully 

Tells him how she would manage if only she 
were he. 

At last the joints are joined, they rear a pyramid 

in air, 
A tub upon the table, and upon the tub a chair. 
And on chair and supporters are the stovepipe 

and the Brown, 
Like the lion and the unicorn, a-fighting for the 

crown ; 
While Mistress Brown, she cheerily says to him, 

** I expec' 
'Twould be just like your c'.dmsiness to fall and 

break your neck.' 

Scarce were the piteous accents said before she 

was aware 
Of what might be called '* a miscellaneous music 

in the air." 
And in wild crash and confusion upon the floor 

rained down 
Chairs, tables, tubs, and stovepipes, anathemas, 

and — Brown. 

There was a moment's silence — Brown had fallen 

on the cat ; 
She was too thick for a book-mark, but too thin 

for a mat. 
And he was all wounds and bruises, from his 

head to his foot. 
And seven breadths of Brussels v/ere ruined with 

the soot. 

"O wedded love, how beautiful, how sweet a 

thing thou art !" 
Up from her chair did Mistress Brown, as she 

saw him falling, start, 



And shrieked aloud as a sickening fear did her 

inmost heartstrings gripe, 
''Josiah Winterbotham Brown, have you gone 

and smashed that pipe?" 

Then fiercely starts that Mister Brown, as one 

that had been wode. 
And big his bosom swelled with wrath, and red 

his visage glowed ; 
Wild rolled his eye as he made reply (and his 

voice was sharp and shrill), 
'' I have not, madam, but, by — by — ^by the nine 

gods, I will!" 

He swung the pipe above his head ; he dashed 

it on the floor, 
And that stovepipe, as a stovepipe, it did exist 

no more ; 
Then he strode up to his shrinking wife, and his 

face was stern and wan. 
And in a hoarse, changed voice he hissed: 

*' Send for that tinsmith^ s man ./" 



H 



DE YALLER CHINEE. 

(Philosophically discussed by a colored man. , 
E kin pick up a libbin' wharebber he goes 
By wukin' de railroad an' washin' ole 
clo'es ; 
He kin lib 'bout as cheap as a leatherwing bat. 
For he watches de rat market keen as a cat ; 
An' his boa'd an' his rations is pretty nigh free, 
For a mighty smart hoss is de yaller Chinee. 

Den, he's not gwine to keer, whar you put him 

to stay, 
An' his eatin' don't cost but a nickel a day ; 
An' he won't gib a straw fur de finest hotel. 
When a slab-sided shanty will suit him as well ; 
An' empty ole box, or a holler gum tree, 
I's a big boa' din '-house for de yaller Chinee. 

An', he eats little mice, when de black-berries 

fail, 
Till de ha'r on his head gits de shape ob a tail ; 
An' I know by his clo'es an' his snufl"-cullud face, 
Dat he comes fum a scrubby an' one-gallus 

race \ 



250 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



And I's trabbled a heap, but I nebber did see 
Sich a curisome chap as de yaller Chinee. 

Dis country was made for de whites an' de 

blacks, 
For dey hoes all de com an' jmys all de tax ; 
You may think what you choose, but de 'sertion 

is true, 
Dat de orf-cullud furriner nebber will do ; 
For dar's heap o' tough people fum ober de sea, 
But de disgustinest sort is de yaller Chinee. 

When de bumble-bee crawls in de dirtdobber's 

hole. 
To warm up his fingers, an' git out ob de cole, 
Dar's gwine to be fuss in de family, sho' ! 
An' one ob de critters must pack up an' go ; 
An' de chinerman's gwine to diskiver right soon 
Dat de rabbit can't lib in a stump wid de coon. 

When de pecker-wood camps on de morkin- 

bird's nes', 
You kin tell pretty quick which kin tussle de bes' ; 
Dar's a mighty good chance ob a skirmish ahead 
When de speckled dog loafs 'round de Tommy- 
cat's bed ; 
An' dar's gwine to be racket wuf waitin' to see 
When de wukin'-man butts 'gin de yaller Chinee. 

FIVE CHAPTERS OF REAL LIFE. 

(Humorous reading. ) 

Chapter I. 

(^Mr. and Mrs. Scadds^ alone. ) 

MR. SCADDS. How often is that upstart 
of a Mr. Hunker coming here to see 
our Mildred ? 
Mrs. Scadds. I'm sure he's a very nice 
young — 

Mr. Scadds. Nice nothing ! Besides, he*s as 
poor as Job's turkey, and Mildred is too young 
to have steady company. How often does he 
come? I say six times a week and twice on 
Sunday. 

Mrs. Scadds. George, dear, remember that 
Mildred is older now than I was when we mar- 
ried ; and Mr. Hunker could not possibly have 
less money than we had, love. 



Mr. Scadds. That has nothing to ao with it~- 
not a thing. I'll put a stop to this sort of thing, 
so I will. I'll get a bull-dog, and turn him 
loose in the front yard every night. Not a soul 
shall approach the house after dark. I'll see 
what effect that'll have on him. 

Chapter II. 
(^Miss Scadds and Mr. Hunker^ alone. ) 

Miss Scadds. Before you go, Mr. Hunker, I 
think I ought to tell you of something papa in- 
tends to do. 

Mr. Hunker. What is it, Miss Scadds ? 

Miss Scadds. He's is going to buy a bull-dog ! 

Mr. Hunker. I didn't know your papa was a 
dog fancier. 

Miss Scadds. He isn't ; he detests dogs. 

Mr. Hunker. Then why does he intend to 
make such a purchase ? 

Miss Scadds. He's going to get a fierce bull- 
dog, so mamma tells me — ^and turn the ferocious 
beast loose in the front yard every night. 

Mr. Hu7iker. Afraid of burglars, is he ? 

Miss Scadds. N-n-no. The fact is, it is to 
keep you away. There. I thought I'd better 
tell you, Harry — er — Mr. Hunker, I mean. 

Mr. Hunker. My little girl — er, I mean Miss 
Scadds — you were afraid I would he torn to 
pieces by its cruel fangs, were you? I'm very 
glad you told me about it ; I'll be on my guard. 
{Looking at his watch.^ How late is it? Time 
flies so rapidly in your company. GoD*-night, 
Mil— er — Miss Scadds. 

Chapter III. 
(^Mr. Scadds y at the dog dealer* s.) 

Mr. Scadds (Jo dog dealer') . I want the biggest, 
most ferocious bull-dog you have in the house, sir. 

Cridge (^dog dealer). Something game, eh? 

Mr. Scadds. Yes ; the gamiest kind of game ! 

Cridge. Want to indulge in some sport, sir? 

Mr. Scadds. Sport? 

Cridge. Yes, sir; a dog that'll fight any dog 
in the country, sir. Chew him right up, sir? 

Mr. Scadds. Oh ! no ! I want a dog to turn 
loose in front of the house every night. A dog 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



251 



that won't let any person except a member of 
the family approach. 

Cridge. Oh ! yes, sir. You want a watch- 
dog, eh? 

Mr. Scadds. That's it ; and I want a dog that 
knows his business, too, and won't be bamboozled 
by tramps and — and by any one else. 

Cridge. Well, sir ; I've a dog that will do just 
what you want. He was brought in only this 
morning by a gentleman who would not sell him 
except for the reason that he doesn't need him 
any more. He's watchful, and you can trust 
him, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. Let me see him. 

Cridge. Here he is, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. What a savage-looking beast ! 
Why, I'm afraid of him, myself! 

Cridge. He's very intelligent, sir; and he'll 
learn to know you and the rest of the family in a 
day. Then, sir, you'll have a dog to be proud 
of, and one you can trust. 

Mr. Scadds. What is his price? 

Cridge. Two hundred dollars, sir. 

Mr. Scadds. Well, bring him over to the 
house about six o'clock, and introduce him to 
his new friends. 

Chapter IV. 
( J/r. and Mrs. Scadds, a month later. ) 

Mr. Scadds. Well, my dear, I suppose that 
bull-dog of ours keeps young Hunker away pretty 
effectually, doesn't he? 

Mrs. Scadds. I'm afraid not, George, dear. 

Mr. Scadds. What's that? 

Mrs. Scadds. The fact is, the dog and Mr. 
Hunker are great friends, which I think shows 
that Mr. Hunker is a man we ought to encour- 
age, for you know that dogs are good judges of 
human — 

Mr. Scadds. Good judges of fiddlesticks ! 

( Takes up his hat and leaves the house in a 
hurry. ) 

Chapter V. 

(^Mr. Scadds* second visit to Mr. Cridge. ) 
Mr. Scadds. Look here, Cridge, who was the 
gentleman who sold that bull-dog to you that I 



bought a month ago and paid you two nundred 
dollars for ? 

Cridge. Young Mr. Hunker, sir. Why? 

Mr. Scadds {in a towering rage). ! * ! ***-— 

! ! ! ! ! 

THE OBLIGING DRUGGIST. 

'* "y HAVE determined to die," he said, as he 
I entered the drug-store, and brought his 
fist down on the counter with force enough 
to make the candy bottles dance. ' ' I have re- 
solved to make away with myself. Apothecary, 
mix me a powerful potion, which will finish my 
earthly career. Give me something against which 
antidotes are of no avail, and which the stomach- 
pump is powerless to withdraw. Do you under- 
stand ?" 

**Yes, sir," replied the druggist, as he took 
down a bottle containing some whitish powder. 
** This is the strongest poison known. I'll give 
you ten grains of it, which will be quite enough 
for your purpose. ' ' 

The druggist proceeded to weigh the powder 
and wrap it up, saying as he did so : 

*' I would advise you to take this powder to 
your room, first being careful to make your will, 
and do such other matters as you deem necessary, 
for after you have swallowed the potion you will 
not be able to do anything before it begins to 
take effect. Immediately on swallowing it, first 
dissolving the contents of the paper in a spoonful 
of water, you will feel a sort of cold chill run up 
your spine. Then your arms will begin to shake, 
and your knees will knock together. Presently 
you will be unable to stand, and you will sink into 
a chair. Your eyes will then pain you. Sharp 
twinges will run through the eyeballs, and in 
about half a minute total blindness will follow. 
Presently gripes will seize the stomach, and you 
will bend forward in agony. Racking headaches 
will be added to your other sensations, followed 
by intense pains in the ears, like ordinary ear- 
ache intensified a thousand times. Twinges like 
those of the gout seize the extremities, the chills 
of the spinal cord become unbearable, the tongue 
protrudes, and -the patient falls from the chair po 



252 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



his face, and unconsciousness follows, which last 
a few minutes, until death supervenes. Twenty- 
five cents, please. ' ' 

The package was ready, but the customer did 
not take it. 



"D 



MR. PICKWICK IN THE WROinG ROOM. 

EAR me, it's time to go to bed. It will 
never do, sitting here. I shall be pale 
to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick!" 

At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. 
Peter Magnus rang the bell for the chamber- 
maid ; and the striped bag, the red bag, the 
leather hat-box and the brown-paper parcel 
having been conveyed to his bed-room, he 
retired in company with a japanned candlestick 
to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick 
and another japanned candlestick were con- 
ducted through a multitude of tortuous windings 
to another. 

''This is your room, sir," said the chamber- 
maid. 

''Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking 
round him. It was a tolerably large double- 
bedded room, with a fire ; upon the whole a 
more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. 
Pickwick's short experience of the accommoda- 
tions of the Great White Horse had led him to 
expect. 

' ' Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course, ' ' 
said Mr. Pickwick. 

"Oh, no, sir." 

" Very good. Tell my servant to bring me 
up some hot water at half-past eight in the 
morning, and that I shall not want him any 
more to-night." 

**Yes, sir." And bidding Mr. Pickwick 
good -night, the chambermaid retired, and left 
him alone. 

Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair 
before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling 
meditations, when he recollected he had left his 
watch on the table down-stairs. The possibility 
of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently 
beneath his pillow, or in his watch-pocket over 
his head, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's brain. 



So as it was pretty late now, and ne was unwill- 
ing to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he 
slipped on his coat, of which he had just 
divested himself, and taking the japanned can- 
dlestick in his hand, walked quietly down-stairs. 

The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the. 
more stairs there seemed to be to descend, and 
again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into 
some narrow passage, and began to congratulate 
himself on having gained the ground-floor, did 
another flight of stairs appear before his aston- 
ished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, 
which he remembered to have seen when he 
entered the house. Passage after passage did he 
explore ; room after did he peep into ; at 
length, just as he was on the point of giving up 
the search in despair, he opened the door of the 
identical room in which he had spent the even- 
ing, and beheld his missing property on the 
table. 

Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, 
and proceeded to retace his steps to his bed- 
chamber. If his progress downwards had been 
attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his 
journey back was infinitely more perplexing. 
He was reduced to the verge of despair, when 
an open door attracted his attention. He 
peeped in — right at last. There were the two 
beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, 
and the fire still burning. His candle, not a 
long one when he first received it, had flickered 
away in the drifts of air through which he had 
passed, and sank into the socket, just as he 
closed the door after him. " No matter," said 
Mr. Pickwick, "I can undress myself just as 
well by the light of the fire. ' ' 

" It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to 
himself, smiling till he almost cracked the 
night-cap strings. " It is the best idea, my los- 
ing myself in this place, and wandering about 
those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, 
droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled* 
again, a broader smile than before, and was 
about to continue the process of undressing in 
the best humor, when he was suddenly stopped 
by a most unexpected interruption ; to wit, th? 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



253 



entrance into the room of some person with a 
candle, who, after locking the door, advanced 
to the dressing-table, and set down the light 
upon it. 

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and 
dismay. Standing before the dressing -glass was 
a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily 
engaged in brushing what ladies call their '^back 
hair." However the unconscious middle-aged 
lady came into that room, it was quite clear 
that she contemplated remaining there for the 
night; for she had brought a rushlight and 
shade with her, which, with praiseworthy pre- 
caution against fire, she had stationed in a basin 
on the floor, where it was glimmering away like 
a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularlv small 
piece of water. 

''Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, 
* ' how very dreadful ! ' ' 

*'Hem!" said the lady; and in went Mr. 
Pickwick's head with automaton-like rapidity. 

' ' I never met with anything so awful as 
this," thought poor Mr. Pickwick, the cold per- 
spiration starting in drops upon his night-cap. 
'' Never ! This is fearful." 

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent 
desire to see what was going forward. So out 
went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect 
was worse than before. The middle-aged lady 
had finished arranging her hair, and carefully 
enveloped it in a muslin night-cap with a small 
plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the 
fire. 

" This matter is growing alarming," reasoned 
Mr. Pickwick with himself. ''I can't allow 
things to go on in this way. By the self-pos- 
session of that lady, it's clear to me that I must 
have come into the wrong room. If I call out, 
she'll alarm the house, but if I remain here, the 
consequence will be still more frightful. ' ' 

He shrank behind the curtains, and called out 
very loudly: 

''Ha-hum!" 

That the lady started at this unexpected sound 
was evident, by her falling up against the rush- 
light shade ; that' she persuaded herself it must 



have been the effect of imagination was equally 
clear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impres- 
sion that she had fainted away stone-dead from 
fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing 
pensively on the fire as before. 

''Most extraordinary female this," thought 
Mr. Pickwick, popping in again. " Ha-hum " 

' ' Gracious Heaven ! ' ' said the middle-aged 
lady, "what's that?" 

" It's — it's — only a gentleman, ma'am," said 
Mr. Pickwick from behind the curtains. 

"A gentleman ! " said the lady, with a terrific 
scream. 

"It's all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. 

"A strange man ! " shrieked the lady. An- 
other instant and the house would be alarmed. 
Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the 
door. 

"Ma'am ! " said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out 
his head, in the extremity of his desperation, 
"ma'am ! " 

"Wretch," said the lady, covering her eyes 
with her hands, " what do you want here ? " 

"Nothing, ma'am — nothing whatever, 
ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, earnestly. 

" Nothing ! " said the lady, looking up. 

"Nothing, ma'am, upon my honor," said 
Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head so energetically 
that the tassel of his night- cap danced again. 
" I am almost ready to sink, ma'am, because of 
the confusion of addressing a lady in my night- 
cap (here the lady hastily snatched off her's), 
but I can't get it off, ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick 
gave it a tremendous tug in proof of the state- 
ment). It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I 
have mistaken this bed-room for my own. I 
had not been here five minutes, ma'am, when 
you suddenly entered it." 

" If this improbable story be really true, sir," 
said the lady, sobbing violently, " you will leav( 
it instantly. ' ' 

"I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure,' 
replied Mr. Pickwick. 

"Instantly, sir," said the lady. 

"Certainly, ma'am," interposed Mr. Pick- 
wick, very quickly. " Certainly, ma'am. I — 



254 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



I — ain very sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, 
making his appearance at the bottom of the. bed, 
** to have been the innocent occasion of this 
alarm and emotion ; deeply sorry, ma'am." 
. The lady pointed to the door. 

**I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said Mr. 
Pickwick, bowing very low. 

"If you arc, sir, you will at once leave the 
room," said the lady. 

*' Immedaately ma'am ; this instant, ma'am," 
said Mr. Pickwick, opening the door, and drop- 
ping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing. 
*' I tnist, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, 
gathering up his shoes, and turning round to 
bow again, "I trust, ma'am, that my unblem- 
ished character, and the devoted respect I enter- 
tain for your sex, will plead as some slight excuse 
for this — ' ' But before Mr. Pickwick could con- 
clude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into 
the passage, and locked and bolted the door be- 
hind him. Charles Dickens. 

MANIFEST DESTINY. 

(Humorous reading. ByJoSH B11.1.ING. ) 

MANIFEST destiny iz the science ov going 
tew bust, or enny other place before yu 
git thare. I may be rong in this centi- 
ment, but that iz the way it strikes me ; and i 
am so put together that when enny thing strikes 
me i immejiately strike back. Manifest destiny 
mite perhaps be blocked out agin as the con- 
dishun that man and things find themselfs in 
with a ring in their nozes and sumboddy hold ov 
the ring. I may be rong agin, but if i am, awl 
i have got tew sa iz, i don't kno it, and what a 
man don't kno ain't no damage tew enny boddy 
else. The tru way that manifess destiny had 
better be sot down iz, the exact distance that a 
frog kan jump down hill with a striped snake 
after him ; i don't kno but i may be rong oust 
more, but if the frog don't git ketched the des- 
tiny iz jist what he iz a looking for. 

When a man falls into the bottom ov a well 
and makes up hiz minde tew stay thar, that ain't 
manifess destiny enny more than having yure 
hair cut short iz ; but if he almoste gits out and 



then falls down in agin 16 foot deeper and brakes 
off hiz neck twice in the same plase and dies and 
iz buried thare at low water, that iz manifess des- 
ting on the square. Standing behind a cow in 
fly time and gitting kicked twice at one time, 
must feel a good deal like manifess destiny. 
Being about 10 seckunds tew late tew git an ex- 
press train, and then chasing the train with yure 
wife, and an umbreller in yure hands, in a hot 
day, and not getting az near tew the train az you 
waz when started, looks a leetle like manifess 
destiny on a rale rode trak. Going into a tern- 
pranse house and calling for a little old Bourbon 
on ice, and being told in a mild way that *'the 
Bourbon iz jist out, but they hav got sum gin 
that cost 72 cents a gallon in Paris," sounds tew 
me like the manifess destiny ov moste tempranse 
houses. 

Mi dear reader, don't beleave in manifess des- 
tiny until you see it. Thar is such a thing az 
manifess destiny, but when it occurs it iz lik the 
number ov rings on the rakoon's tale, ov no great 
consequense onla for ornament. Man wan't 
made for a machine, if he waZ; > waz a locomotift 
machine, and manifess destiny must git oph from 
the trak when the bell rings or git knocked higher 
than the price ov gold. Manifess destiny iz a 
disseaze, but it iz eazy tew heal ; i have seen it 
in its wust stages cured bi sawing a cord ov dri 
hickory wood, i thought i had it onse, it broke 
out in the shape ov poetry ; i sent a speciment 
ov the disseaze tew a magazine, the magazine 
man wrote me next day az follers, 

^^ Dear Sir: Yu may be a phule. but you are 
no poeck. Yures, in haste." 

MRS. CAUDLE NEEDS SPRING 
CLOTHING. 

IF there is anything in the world that I hate — 
and you know it — it is, asking you for 
money. I am sure for myself, I'd rather 
go without a thing a thousand times, and I do, 
the more shame for you to let me. IVJiat do I 
want now ? As if you didn't know ! I'm sure, 
if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask you 
for a farthing — never ! It's painful to me, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



grac o knows ! What do you say ? .1/ if s pain- 
ful ^ why so often do it ? I suppose you call that 
a joke — one of your club -jokes ! As I say, I 
only wish I'd any money of my own. If there 
is anything that humbles a poor woman, it is 
coming to a man's pocket for every cent. It's 
dreadful ! 

Now, Caudle, you shall hear me, for it isn't 
often I speak. Pray, do you know what month 
it is? And did you see how the children looked 
at church to-day— Hke nobody else's children ? 
Wliat was the matter with them ? Oh ! Caudle, 
how can you ask! Weren't they all in their 
thick merinoes and beaver bonnets ? What do 
you say? What of it? What! You'll tell me 
that you didn't see how the Briggs girls, in their 
new chips, turned their noses up at 'em? And 
you didn't see how the Browns looked at the 
Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as 
to say, ' ' Poor creatures ! what figures for the 
first of May!" You didn't see it f The more 
shame for you ! I'm sure, those Briggs girls — 
the little minxes! — put me in such a pucker, I 
could have pulled their ears for 'em over the 
pew. What do you say ! I ought to be ashamed 
to own it? Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; 
those children shall not cross over the threshold 
next Sunday if they haven't things for the sum- 
mer. Now mind — they shan't ; and there's an 
end of it ! 

rm always wanting money for clothes ? How 
can you say that ? I'm sure there are no chil- 
dren in the world that cost their father so little ; 
but that's it — the less a poor woman does upon, 
the less she may. Now, Caudle, dear ! What 
a man you are ! I know you'll give me the 
money, because, after all, I think you love your 
children, and like to see 'em well dressed. It's 
only natural that a father should. How much 
money do 2 want? Let me see, love. There's 
Caroline, and Jane, and Susan, and Mary Ann, 
and — What do you say? / needn't count \m? 
You know how many there are / That's just the 
way you take me up ! Well, how much money 
will it take? Let me see — I'll tell you in a 
minute. You always love to see the dear things 



like new pins. I know that. Caudle ; and though 
I say it, bless their little hearts I they do credit 
to you, Caudle. 

How much? Now, don't be in a hurry ! 
Well, I think, with good pinching — and you 
know, Caudle, there's never a wife who can 
pinch closer than I can — I think, with pinching, 
I can do with a hundred dollars. What did you 
say? Hundred fiddlesticks ? What! You won't 
give half the money ? Very well, Mr. Caudle ; 
I don't care ; let the children go in rags ; 
let them stop from church, and grow up like 
heathens and cannibals ; and then you'll save 
your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied. What 
do you say ? Fifty dollars enough ? Yes, just 
like you men ; you think things cost nothing 
for women ; but you don' t care how much you 
lay out upon yourselves. They only want frocks 
and bonnets ? How do you know what they 
want ! How should a man know anything at all 
about it And you won't give more than fifty 
dollars ? Very well. Then you may go shop- 
ping with it yourself, and see what you'' II make 
of it ? I'll have none of your fifty dollars, I can 
tell you — no, sir ! 

No, you've no cause to say that. I don't want 
to dress the children up like countesses ? You 
often throw that in my teeth, you do ; but you 
know it's false, Caudle j you know it ! I only 
wish to give 'em proper notions of themselves; 
and what, indeed, can the poor things think, 
when they see the Briggses, the Browns, and the 
Smiths, — and their fathers don't make the money 
you do. Caudle — when they see them as fine as 
tulips ? Why, they must think themselves no- 
body. However, the hundred dollars I a;/// have, 
if I've any ; or not a cent ! No, sir ; no,— - 
I don't want to dress up the children like pea- 
cocks and parrots ! I only want to make 'em 
respectable. 

What do you say? You' II give me seventy -five 
dollars ? No, Caudle, no, not a cent will I take 
under a hundred. If I did, it would seem as if 
I wanted to waste your money ; and I am sure, 
when I come to think of it, one hundred dollars 
will hardly do ! 



256 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY. 

(i)"^T"()L' Wiyum, coriie'ere,suh, disinstunce. 
I Wilt dat you got under dat box ? 
I do' want no foolin' — you hear me ? 
Wut you say ? Ain't nothin' but rocks? 
Pears ter me you's owdashus p'ticler. 

S'posin' dey's uv a new kine. 
I* 11 des take a look at dem rocks. 
Hi-yi ! der you tink dat I's bline ? 

(2) I calls dat a plain watermillion, 

You scamp ; an' I knows whar it giowed ; 
It cum fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel'j 

Dar on ter side er de road. 
You stole it, you rascal — you stole it. 

I watched you fum down in de lot. 
En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger. 

You wont eb'n be a grease spot. 

(3) I'll fix you. Mirandy ! Mirandy I 

Go cut me a hick'ry — make 'ase. 
En cut me de toughes' en keenes* 

You c'n fine anywhah on de place. 
I'll lam you, Mr. Wiyum Joe Vetters 

Ter lie en ter steal, you young sinner ! 
Disgracin yo' ole Christian mammy, 

En makin' her leave cookin' dinner ! 

(4) Now, ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, sur? 

I is. I's 'shamed youse my son ! 
En de holy accorgian angel 

He's 'shamed er wut youse done. 
En he's tuk it down up yander. 

In coal-black, blood-red letters — 
** One watermillion stoled 

By Wiyum Josephus Vetters." 

(6) En whut you s'posen Br'er Bascom, 

You teacher at Sunday-School, 
'Ud say if he knowed how youse broke 

De good Lawd's Gol'n Rule ? 
Boy, whah's de raisin' I gib you ? 

Is you boun fuh ter be a black villiun? 
I'ss'priscd dat a chile er you mammy 

'Ud steal any man's watermillion. 



(6) En I's now gwine ter cut it right open, 

En you shian't have nary bite, 
Fuh a boy who'll steal watermillions — 

En dat in de day's broad light — 
Ain't — Lawdy ! it's green ! Mirandy ! 

Mirandy ! come on wi' dat switch ! 
Well, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n watermillion ! 

Who ebber heered tell er sich ? 

(7) Cain't tell w'en dey's ripe ? W'y you thump 

um, 

En w'en they go pank dey is green ; 
But w'en dey go punk, now you mine me, 

Dey's ripe — en dats des' wut I mean. 
En nex' time you hook watermillions — 

You heered me, you ig-namp, you hunky 
Ef you do' want a lickin all over, 

Be sho' dat dey allers go '^ punk !" 

MOLLIE'S LITTLE RAM. 

(Parody on '* Mary's Little Ivamb.") 

MOLLIE had a little ram as black as a rub- 
ber shoe, and everywhere that Mollie 
went he emigrated too. 

He went with her to church one day — the 
folks hilarious grew, to see him walk demurely 
into Deacon Allen's pew. 

The worthy deacon quickly let his angry pas- 
sions rise, and gave it an un-Christian kick be- 
tween the sad brown eyes. 

This landed rammy in the aisle ; the deacon 
followed fast, and raised his foot again ; alas ! 
that first kick was his last. 

For Mr. Sheep walked slowly back, about a 
rod 'tis said, and ere the deacon could retreat, 
it stood him on his head. 

The congregation then arose, and went for 



^ that ere sheep. Several well directed butts just 
piled them in a heap. 

Then rushed they all straight for the door with 
curses long and loud, while rammy struck the 
hindmost man, and shoved him through the 
crowd. 

The minister had often heard that kindness 
would subdue the fiercest beast. '^'\ha!"he 
said, **ril try that game on you. ' 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



25; 



And so he gently, kindly called : * ' Come 
Rammy, Ramm\', Ram ; to see the folks abuse 
you so, I grieved and sorry am ! ' ' 

With kind and gentle words he came from that 
tall pulpit down, saying, * ' Rammy, Rammy, 
Ram — best sheep in the town." 

The ram quite dropped his humble air, and 
rose from off his feet, and when the parson lit, 
he was beneath the hindmost seat. 

As he shot out the door, and closed it with a 
slam, he named a California town. J thinl^ '*was 
Yuba- Dam. 

SOCRATES SNOOKS* 

MISTER Socrates Snooks, a lord of crea- 
tion, 
The second time entered the married 
relation : 
Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, 
And they thought him the happiest man in the 

land. 
But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his' 

head. 
When one morning to Xantippe, Socrates said, 
'' I think, for a man of my standing in life. 
This house is too small, as I now have a wife ; 
So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey- 
Shall be sent for to widen my house and my 
dairy." 

**Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, 
" I hate to hear everything vulgarly myd; 
Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, 
Say, our cow-house, {?ur barn-yard, our pig-pen. ' ' 
** By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I 

please 
Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees. ' ' 
" Say our/^ Xantippe exclaimed in a rage. 
*'I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an 

age!" 

Oh, woman ! though only a part of man's rib. 

If the story in Genesis don't tell a fib. 

Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel 

with you, 
You are certain to prove the b-^^t man of the 

two. 
17 



In the following case this was certainly true ; 
For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe, 
And laying about her, all sides at random. 
The adage was verified — ''Nil desperandum. " 

Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain. 
To ward off the blows which descended like 

rain — 
Concluding that valor's best part was discretion — 
Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian ; 
But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid, 
Converted the siege into a blockade. 

At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, 
He concluded 'twas useless to strive against fate : 
And so, like a tortoise protruding his head. 
Said, *'My dear, may we come out from under 

our bed ? ' ' 
"Hah! hah!" she exclaimed, '*Mr. Socrates 

Snooks, 
I perceive you agree to my terms by your looks : 
Now, Socrates — hear me — from this happy hour. 
If you'll only obey me, I'll never look sour." 

'Tis said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, 

He chanced for a clean pair of trousers to 
search. 

Having found them, he asked, with a few ner- 
vous twitches, 

** My dear, may we put on our new Sunday 
breeches ? ' ' 

THE PILGRIMS. 

THEY were practical statesmen, these Pil- 
grims. They wasted ao time theorizing 
upon methods, but went straight at the 
mark. They solved the Indian problem with 
shot-guns, and it was not General Sherman, but 
Miles Standish, who originated the axiom that 
the only good Indians are the dead ones. They 
were bound by neither customs nor traditions, 
nor committals to this or that policy. The only 
question with them was, Does it work? The 
success of their Indian experiment led them to 
try similar methods with witches, Quakers, and 
Baptists. Their failure taught them the differ- 
ence between mind and matter. A dead savage 



258 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



was another wolf under ground, but one of 
themselves persecuted or killed for conscience 
sake sowed the seed of discontent and disbelief. 
The effort to wall in a creed and wall out 
liberty was at once abandoned, and to-day New 
England has more religions and not less religion, 
but less bigotry, than any other community in 
the world. 

In an age when dynamite was unknown, the 
Pilgrim invented in the cabin of the Mayflower 
the most powerful of explosives. The declara- 
tion of the equality of all men before the law 
has rocked thrones and consolidated classes. 
It separated the colonies from Great Britain 
and created the United States. It pulverized 
the chains of the slaves and gave manhood 
suffrage. It devolved upon the individual the 
functions of government and made the people 
the sole source of power. It substituted the cap 
of liberty for the royal crown in France, and by 
a bloodless revolution has added to the con- 
stellation of American republics, the star of 
Brazil. But with the ever-varying conditions 
incident to free government, the Puritan's talent 
as a political mathematician will never rust. 
Problems of the utmost importance press upon 
him for solution. When, in the effort to regu- 
late the liquor traffic, he has advanced beyond 
the temper of the times and the sentiment of 
the people in the attempt to enact or enforce 
prohibition, and either been disastrously defeated 
or the flagrant evasions of the statutes have brought 
the law into contempt, he does not despair- but 
tries to find the error in his calculation. 

If gubernatorial objections block the way of 
high license he will bombard the executive 
judgment and conscience by a proposition to 
tax. The destruction of homes, the ruin of the 
young, the increase of pauperism and crime, 
the added burdens upon the taxpayers by the 
evils of intemperance, appeal with resistless force 
to his training and traditions. As the power of 
the saloon increases the difficulties of the task, he 
becomes more and more certain that some time 
or other and in some way or other he will do 
that sum too. Chauncey M. Depew. | 



WASHINGTON. 

(From speech at Dinas Island. By Chari,eS 
Phii^lips. Bom, 1788; died, 185;.) 

IT is the custom of your board, and a noble 
one it is, to deck the cup of the gay with 
the garland of the great ; and surely, even 
in the eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less 
lovely when glowing beneath the foliage of the 
palm-tree and the myrtle. Allow me to add one 
flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in 
America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and it 
is naturalized everywhere. I see you antici- 
pate me — I see you concur with me, that it mat- 
ters very little what immediate spot maybe the 
birth-place of such a man as Washington. No 
people can claim, no country can appropriate 
him ; the boon of Providence to the human race, 
his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. 
Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the 
disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the con- 
vulsion in which he had his origin. If the 
heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, 
when the storm passed, how pure was the climate 
that it cleared j how bright in the brow of the 
firmament was the planet which it revealed to 
us ! In the production of Washington, it does 
really appear as if nature was endeavoring to im- 
prove upon herself, and that all the virtues of the 
ancient world were but so many studies prepara- 
tory to the patriot of the new. Individual 
instances no doubt there were ; splendid exem- 
plifications of some single qualification. Ccesar 
was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal 
was patient ; but it was reserved for Washington 
to blend them all in one, and like the lovely 
chef-d' oeuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in 
one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every 
model, and the perfection of every master. As a 
general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, 
and supplied by discipline the absence of experi- 
ence ; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of 
the cabinet into the most comprehensive system 
of general advantage ; and such was the wisdom 
of his views, and the ])ilosophy of his counsels, 
that to the soldier and the statesman he almost 
added the character of the sage ! a conqueror, he 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



250 



VTBS untainted with the crime of blood ; a revolu- 
tionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; 
for aggression commenced the contest, and his 
country called him to the command. Liberty 
unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 
returned it. If he had paused here, history 
might have doubted what station to assign him, 
whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, 
her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious 
act crowns his career, and banishes all hesita- 
tion. Who, like Washington, after having eman- 
cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and 
preferred tl^p retirement of domestic life to the 
adoration of a land he might be almost said to 
have created ? 

" How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ; 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" 

Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be 
accused of partiality in his estimate of America. 
Happy, proud America ! the lightnings of heaven 
yielded to your philosophy ! The temptations of 
earth could not seduce your patriotism ! 

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

IF Napoleon's fortune was great, his genius 
was transcendent; decision flashed upon 
his counsels ; and it was the same to decide 
and to perform. To inferior intellects, his combi- 
nations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans 
perfectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, sim- 
plicity marked their development, and success 
vindicated their adoption. 

His person partook the character of his mind — 
if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other 
never bent in the field. 

Nature had no obstacles that he did not sur- 
mount — space no opposition that he did not 
spurn ; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian 
sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against 
peril, and empowered with ubiquity ! The 
whole continent of Europe trembled at behold- 
ing the audacity of his designs, and the miracle 
of their execution. Skepticism bowed to the 
prodigies of his performance ; romance assumed 



the air of history ; nor was there aught too in- 
credible for belief, or too fanciful for expectation, 
when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving 
his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. 
All the visions of antiquity became common 
places in his contemplation ; kings were his peo- 
ple — nations were his outposts ; and he disposed 
of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, 
and cabinets, as if they were the titular digni- 
taries of the chess-board ! 

Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune 
played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, 
crowns tumbled, beggars reigned, systems van- 
ished, the wildest theories took the color of his 
whim, and all that was venerable, and all that 
was novel, changed places with the rapidity of 
a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the 
appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt con- 
firmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him 
to empire. 

Amid all these changes he stood immutable as 
adamant. It mattered little whether in the field 
or the drawing-room — with the mob or the 
levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet cr the iron 
crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a 
Hapsburgh — dictating peace on a raft to the Czar 
of Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows 
of Leipsic — ^he was the same military despot ! 

Charles Phillips. 

ANALYSIS OF THE CHARACTER 
OF BONAPARTE. 

(Continuation of the foregoing.) 

CRADLED in the camp, Bonaparte was to 
the last hour the darling of the army; 
and whether in the camp or the cabinet, 
he never foorsook a friend or forgot a favor. 
Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him till 
aflection was useless ; and their first stipulation 
was for the safety of their favorite. 

They knew well that if he was lavish of them, 
he was prodigal of himself; and that if he ex- 
posed them to peril, he repaid them with plun- 
der. For the soldier, he subsidized every 
people ; to the people he made even pride pay 
tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with 



260 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



his gains; and tue capital, gorgeous with the 
spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of 
the universe. In this wonderful combination, 
his affectation of literature must not be omitted. 
The jailer of the press, he affected the patron- 
age of letters — the proscriber of books, he en- 
couraged philosophy — the persecutor of authors 
and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended 
to the protection of learning ! — the assassin of 
Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the de- 
nouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, 
the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic 
prize to the philosopher of England. 

Such a medley of contradictions, and at the 
same time such an individual consistency, were 
never united in the same character. A royalist — 
a republican and an emperor — a Mohammedan 
— a Catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a 
subaltern and a sovereign — a traitor and a 
tyrant — a Christian and an infidel — he was, 
through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, im- 
patient, inflexible original — the same mysterious 
incomprehensible self — the man without a model, 
and without a shadow. 

His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. 
In short, his whole history was like a dream to 
the world, and no man can tell how or why he 
was awakened from the reverie. 

That he has done much evil, there is little 
doubt ; that he has been the origin of much 
good, there is just as little. ITirough his means, 
intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France 
have arisen to the blessings of a free constitu- 
tion ; superstition has found her grave in the 
ruins of the inquisition ; and the feudal system, 
with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has 
fled forever. Kings may learn from him that 
their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the 
interest of the people ; the people are taught by 
him that there is no despotism so stupendous 
against which they have not a recourse ; and to 
those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he 
is a living lesson, that if ambition can raise them 
from the lowest station, it can also prostrate 
K^m (rr-r^ ♦he highest. 

Charles Phillips. 



ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG MEN OF 

ITALY. 

(By J. Mazzini. Born, 1808 ; died, 1872. An eminent 
Italian patriot, orator and writer.) 

The following extract, translated from the Italian, 
is from an impassioned address, delivered by Mazzini, 
at Milan, on the 25lh of July, 1848, at the request of 
a National Association, on the occasion of a solemn 
commemoration of the death of the brothers Ban- 
di^ra, and their fellow-martyrs, at Cosenza. 

T T'HEN I was commissioned by you, young 
\^[^ men, to proffer in this temple a few 
words consecrated to the memory of the 
brothers Bandiera, and their fellow-martyrs, at 
Cosenza, I thought that some one of those who 
heard me might perhaps exclaim, with noble in- 
dignation, * ' Why thus lament over the dead ? 
The martyrs of liberty are only worthily honored 
by winning the battle they have begun. Cosenza, 
the land where they fell, is enslaved ; Venice, 
the city of their birth, is begirt with strangers. 
Let us emancipate them ; and, until that moment, 
let no words pass our lips, save those of war. ' ' 
But another thought arose, and suggested to me. 
Why have we not conquered ? Why is it that, 
whilst our countrymen are fighting for independ- 
ence in the North of Italy, liberty is perishing in 
the South ? Why is it that a war which should 
have sprung to the Alps with the bound of a lion 
has dragged itself along for four months with the 
slow, uncertain motion of the scorpion sur- 
rounded by the circle of fire ? How has the 
rapid and powerful intuition of a People newly 
arisen to life been converted into the weary, 
helpless effort of the sick man, turning from side 
to side ? 

Ah ! had we all arisen iirf che sanctity of the 
idea for which our martyrs died ; had the holy 
standard of their faith preceded our youth to 
battle ; had we made of our every thought an 
action, and of our every action a thought ; had we 
learned from them that liberty and independence 
are one ; — we should not now have war, but vic- 
tory. Cosenza would not be compelled to vener- 
ate the memory of her martyrs in secret, nor 
Venice be restrained from honoring them with a 
monument ; and we, here gathered together, 
might gladly invoke those sacred names, without 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



261 



uncertainty as to our future destiny, or a cloud 
of sadness on our brows ; and might say to those 
precursor souls, '■'■ Rejoice , for your spirit is in- 
carnate in your brethren, and they are worthy of 
you. ' ' Could Attilio and Emilio Bandiera, and 
their fellow-martyrs, now arise from the grave 
and speak to you, they would, believe me, ad- 
dress you, though with a power very different 
from that given to me, in counsel not unlike that 
which now I utter. 

Love ! Love is the flight of the soul towards 
God; towards the great, the sublime, and the 
beautiful, which are the shadow of God upon 
earth. Love your family ; the partner of your 
life ; those around you, ready to share your joys 
and sorrows ; the dead, who were dear to you, 
and to whom you were dear. Love your 
country. It is your name, your glory, your 
sign among the Peoples. Give to it your 
thought, your counsel, your blood. You are 
twenty-four millions of men, endowed with 
active, splendid faculties; with a tradition of 
glory, the envy of the Nations of Europe ; an 
immense future is before you, — your eyes are 
raised to the loveliest heaven, and around you 
smiles the loveliest land in Europe ; you are 
encircled by the Alps and the sea, boundaries 
marked out by the finger of God for a people of 
giants. And you must be such, or nothing. 
Let not a man of that twenty-four millions 
remain excluded from the fraternal bond which 
shall join you together; let not a look be raised 
to that heaven, which is not that of a free man. 
Love humanity. You can only ascertain your 
own mission from the aim placed by God before 
humanity at large. Beyond the Alps, beyond 
the sea, are other Peoples, now fighting, or pre- 
paring to fight, the holy fight of independence, 
of nationality, of liberty; other Peoples striv- 
ing by different routes to reach the same goal. 
Unite with them, — they will unite with you. 

And love, young men, love and reverence the 
Idea ; it is the country of the spirit, the city of 
the soul, in which all are brethren who believe 
in the inviolability of thought, and in the dig- 
nity of our immortaL natures. Frona that high 



sphere spring the principles which alone can 
redeem the Peoples. Love enthusiasm, — the 
pure dreams of the virgin soul, and the lofty 
visions of early youth ; for they are the per- 
fume of Paradise, which the soul preserves in 
issuing from the hands of its Creator. Respect, 
above all things, your conscience ; have upon 
your lips the truth that God has placed in your 
hearts; and, while working together in harmony 
in all that tends to the emancipation of our soil, 
even with those who differ from you, yet ever 
bear erect your own banner, and boldly promul- 
gate your faith. 

Such words, young men, would the martyrs 
of Cosenza have spoken, had they been living 
amongst you. And here, where, perhaps, in- 
voked by our love, their holy spirits hover near 
us, I call upon you to gather them up in your 
hearts, and to make of them a treasure amid the 
storms that yet threaten you; but which, with 
the name of our martyrs on your lips, and their 
faith in your hearts, you will overcome. 

'^od be with you. and bless Italy ! 

APPEAL TO THE JURY, 

(Trial of O'Mullan.) 

I AM told they triumph much in this con- 
viction. I seek not to impugn the verdict 
of that jury ; I have no doubt they acted 
conscientiously. It weighs not with me that 
every member of my client's creed was care- 
fully excluded from that jury — no doubt they 
acted consciefitiously. It weighs not with me 
that every man impaneled on the trial of the 
priest were exclusively Protestant, and that, too, 
in a city so prejudiced, that not long ago, by 
their corporation law, no Catholic dared breathe 
the air of heaven within its walls — no doubt they 
acted conscientiously. It weighs not with me, 
that not three days previously, one of that jury 
was heard publicly to declare, he wished he 
could persecute the papist to his death — no doubt 
they acted conscientiously. It weighs not with 
me that the public mind had been so inflamed 
by the exasperation of this libeler that an im- 
partial trial was utterly impossible. Let them 



262 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



enjoy their triumph. But for myself, knowing 
him as I do, I* "re in the teeth of that convic- 
tion, I declare i . I would rather be that man, 
so aspersed, so imprisoned, so persecuted, and 
have his consciousness^ than stand the hiejhest of 
of the courtliest rabble that ever crouched 
before the foot of power, or fed upon the 
people-plundered alms of despotism. Oh ! of 
short duration is such demoniac triumph. Oh ! 
blind and groundless is the hope of vice, imag- 
ining that its victory can be more than for the 
moment. This very day I hope will prove that 
if virtue suffers, it is but for a season ; and that 
50oner or later, their patience tried, and their 
purity testified, prosperity will crown the in- 
terests of probity and worth. 

Charles Phillips. 

A REVOLUTIONARY SERMON.* 

SOLDIERS and countrymen : We have 
met this evening perhaps for the last 
time. We have shared the toil of the 
march, the peril of the fight, the dismay 
of the retreat ; alike we have endured toil 
and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe, 
the outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have 
sat night after night beside the same camp-fire, 
shared the same rough soldier's fare ; we have 
together heard the roll of the reveille which 
called us to duty, or the beat of the tattoo which 
gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the sol- 
dier, with the earth for hli. *")ed, and a knapsack 
for his pillow. 

And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met 
in this peaceful valley, on the eve of battle, while 
the sunlight is dying away beyond yonder heights, 
the sunlight that to-morrow morn will glimmer 
on scenes of blood. We have met amid the 
whitening tents of our encampment ; in times of 
terror and gloom have we gathered together — 
God grant it may not be for the last time ! It 
is a solemn time. It was but a day since our 
land slept in the light of peace. War was not 
here, wrong was not here. Fraud, and woe, and 

• Preached on the eve of the battle of Brandvwine, Septem- 
ber lo, 1777, in the presence of Washingtou and his army, at 
Cb«dd's Ford. 



misery, and want, dwelt not among us. Irom 
the eternal solitude of the green woods, arose 
the blue smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden 
fields of com peered forth from amid the waste 
of the wilderness, and the glad music of human 
voices awoke the silence of the forest. Now, 
God of mercy, behold the change ! Under the 
shadow of a pretext, under the sanctity of the 
name of God, invoking the Redeemer to their 
aid, do these foreign hirelings slay our people ! 
They throng our towns, they darken our plains, 
and now they encompass our posts on the lonely 
plain of Chadd's Ford. 
* ' They that take the sword shall perish by the .sword. ' ' 

Brethren, think me not unworthy of belief 
when I tell you that the doom of the Britisher 
is near ! Think me not vain when I tell you 
that beyond that cloud that now enshrouds us, ] 
see. gathering, thick and fast, the darker cloud 
and the blacker storm of a Divine retribution ! 
They may conquer us to-morrow ! Might and 
wrong may prevail, and we may be driven from 
this field, but the hour of God's own vengeance 
will come ! 

Aye, if in the vast solitudes of eternal space, 
if in the heart of the boundless universe, there 
throbs the being of an awful God, quick to 
avenge, and sure to punish guilt, then will the 
man, George of Brunswick^ called King, feel in 
his brain and in his heart, the vengeance of the 
Eternal Jehovah ! A blight will be upon his life, — 
a withered brain, an accursed intellect ; a blight 
will be upon his children, and on his people. 
Great God ! how dread the punishment ! 

A crowded populace, peopling the dense towns 
where the man of money thrives, while the 
laborer starves ; want striding among the people 
in all his forms of terror ; an ignorant and God- 
defying priesthood, chuckling over the miseries 
of millions ; a proud and merciless nobility, 
adding wrong to wrong, and heaping insult upon 
robbery and fraud ; royalty corrupt to the very 
heart, aristocracy rotten to the core ; crime and 
want linked hand in hand, and tempting men to 
deeds of woe and death, — these arc a part of tlie 
doom and retribution that shall come upon the 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



263 



English throne and people. Soldiers, I look 
around among your familiar faces with a strange 
interest ! To-morrow morning we will all go 
forth to battle — for need I tell you that your 
unworthy minister will go .with you, invoking 
God's aid in the fight? We will march forth to 
battle. Need I exhort you to fight — to fight for 
your homesteads, for your wives and your chil- 
dren? My friends, I might urge you to fight 
by the galling memories of British wrong ! 
Walton, I might tell you of your father, butch- 
ered in the silence of midnight, on the plains of 
Trenton ; I might picture his gray hairs, dabbled 
in blood ; I might ring his death shriek in your 
ears. Shelmire, I might tell you of a mother 
butchered, and a sister outraged ; the lonely 
farm-house, the night assault, the roof in flames, 
the shouts of the troopers as they despatched 
their victims, the cries for mercy, the pleadings 
of innocence for pity. 

I might paint this all again, in the terrible 
colors of vivid reality, if I thought your courage 
needed such wild excitement. But I know you 
are strong in the might of the Lord. You will go 
forth to battle to-morrow with light hearts and 
determined spirits, though the solemn duty, the 
duty of avenging the dead, may rest heavy on 
your souls. And in the hour of battle when all 
around is darkness, lit by the lurid cannon-glare 
and the piercing musket-flash, when the wounded 
strew the ground, and the dead litter your path, 
remember, soldiers, that God is with you. The 
Eternal God fights for you ; he rides on the 
battle cloud, he sweeps onward with the march 
of the hurricane charge. The Awful and the 
Infinite fights for you, and you will triumph. 
* ' They that take the sword shall perish by the sword. ' ' 

You have taken the sword, but not in the 
spirit of wrong and ravage. You have taken 
the sword for your homes, for your wives, for 
your little ones. You have taken the sword . for 
truth, for justice and right, and to you the 
promise is, be of good cheer; for your foes 
have taken the sword, in defiance of all that 
man holds dear, in blasphemy of God; they 
shall perish by the sword. 



And now, brethren and soldiers, I bid you all 
farewell. Many of us may fall in the fight of 
to-morrow, — God rest the souls of the fallen ! — 
many of us may live to tell the story of the 
fight of to-morrow, and in the memory of all, 
will ever rest and linger the quiet scene of this 
autumnal night. When we meet again, may the 
long shadows of twilight be flung over a peace- 
ful land. 

G'^d in heaven grant it ! 

Hugh Henry Breckenridge. 

THE MURDERER'S SELF-BETRAYAL. 

(From argument at Knapp's trial. ) 

AN aged man, without an enemy in the 
world, in his own house, and in his own 
bed, is made the victim of a butcherly 
murder, for mere pay. The fatal blow is given ! 
and the victim passes, without a struggle or a 
motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of 
death ! It is the assassin's purpose to make sure 
work. He explores the wrist for the pulse. He 
feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! 
It is accomplished. The deed is done. He 
retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes 
out through it as he came in, and escapes. He 
has done the murder ;-— no eye has seen him, no 
ear has heard him. The secret is his own, — and 
it is safe ! 

Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. 
Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole 
creation of God has neither nook nor corner 
where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. 
Not to speak of that eye which glances through 
all disguises, and beholds everything as in the 
splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt are never 
safe from detection, even by men. True it is, 
generally speaking, that '* murder will out.'* 
True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, 
and doth so govern things, that those who break 
the great law of heaven, by shedding man's 
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. 
Especially, in a case exciting so much attention 
as this, discovery must come, and will come, 
sooner or later. 

4. thousand eyes turn at once to explore every 



264 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



man, every thing, every circumstance, connected 
with the time and place ; a thousand ears catch 
every whisper ; a thousand excited minds in- 
tensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their 
light, and ready to kindle the slightest circum- 
stance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the 
guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is 
false to itself; or rather it feels an irresistible 
impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It 
labors under its guilty possession, and knows not 
what to do with it. The human heart was not 
made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It 
finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it 
dares not acknowledge to God nor man. A 
vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympa- 
thy or assistance, either from heaven or earth. 
The secret which the murderer possesses soon 
comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits 
of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads 
him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating 
at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding 
disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it 
in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its 
workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It 
has become his master. It betrays his discretion, 
it breaks down his courage, it conquers his 
prudence. When suspicions, from without, be- 
gin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance 
to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with 
still greater violence to burst forth. It must be 
confessed, it will be confessed, there is no refuge 
from confession but sricide, and suicide is con- 
fession. Daniel Webster. 

THE FIRETViAN'S PRAYER. 

IT was in the gray of the early morning, in 
the season of Lent. Broad street, from 
Fort Hill to State street, was crowded with 
hastening worshipers, attendants on early mass. 
Maidens, matrons, boys, and men jostled and 
hurried on toward the churches ; some with 
countenances sincerely sad, others with apparent 
attempts to appear in accord with the sombre 
season ; while many thoughtless and careless 
ones joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled 
along in the hurrying multitude. 



Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths 
and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles 
of the roof upon a large warehouse. The great 
structure stood upon the corner, silent, bolted, 
and tenantless ; and all the windows, save a 
small round light in the upper story, were 
closely and securely covered with heavy shut- 
ters. Scarcely had the smoke been seen by 
one, when others of the crowd looked up in 
the same direction, and detected the unusual 
occurrence. Then others joined them, and 
still others followed, until a swelling multi- 
tude gazed upward to the roof over which the 
smoke soon hung like a fog ; while from eaves 
and shutter of the upper story little jets of 
black smoke burst suddenly out into the clear 
morning air. Then came a flash, like the light- 
ning's glare, through the frame of the little gable 
window, and then another, brighter, ghastlier, 
and more prolonged. ** Fire !" *' Fire !" 
screamed the throng, as, moved by a single im- 
pulse, they pointed with excited gestures toward 
the window. 

Quicker than the time it takes to tell, the 
cry reached the corner, and was flashed on 
messenger wires to tower and steeple, engine 
and hose-house, over the then half-sleeping city. 
Great bells with ponderous tongues repeated the 
cry with logy strokes, little bells with sharp and 
spiteful clicks recited the news ; while half-con- 
scious firemen, watching through the long night, 
leaped upon engines and hose-carriages, and 
rattled into the street. 

Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was 
drenched with floods of water, poured upon it 
from the hose of many engines ; while the 
surging multitude in Broad street had grown 
to thousands of excited spectators. The en- 
gines puffed and hooted, the engineers shouted, 
the hook-and-ladder boys clambered upon roof 
and cornice, shattered the shutters, and burst 
in the doors, making way for the rescuers of 
merchandise, and for the surging nozzle? of 
available hose -pipes. But the wooden struc- 
ture was a seething furnace throughout all 
its upper portion ; while the water and ven 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



265 



tilation seemed only to increase its power and 
fury. 

** Come down ! Come down ! Off that roof! 
Come out of that building ! ' ' shouted an excited 
man in the crowd, struggling with all his power 
in the meshes of the solid mass of men, women 
and children in the street. ''Comedown! For 
God's sake, come down ! The rear store is filled 
with barrels of powder !" 

' ' Powder ! Powder ! ' ' screamed the engineer 
through his trumpet. '' Powder !" shouted the 
hosemen. ' ' Powder ! ' ' called the brave boys 
on roof and cornice. " Powder !" answered the 
trumpet of the chief. ' ' Powder V " Powder ! ' ' 
' ' Powder ! ' ' echoed the men in the burning pile ; 
and from ladder, casement, window, roof, an4 
cornice leaped terrified firemen with pale faces 
and terror-stricken limbs. 

''Push back the crowd!" shouted the engi- 
neer. " Run for your lives ; Run ! Run ! 
Run ! ' ' roared the trumpets. 

But, alas ! the crowd was dense, and spread 
so far through cross streets and alleys, that away 
on the outskirts, through the shouts of men, the 
whistling of the engines, and the roar of the 
heaven-piercing flames, the orders could not be 
heard. The frantic beings in front, understand- 
ing their danger, pressed wildly back. The fire- 
men pushed their engines and their carriages 
against the breasts of the crowd ; but the throng 
moved not. So densely packed was street and 
square, and so various and deafening the noises, 
that the army of excited spectators in the rear 
still pressed forward with irresistible force, un- 
conscious of danger, and regarding any outcry 
as a mere ruse to disperse them for convenience' 
sake. The great mass swayed and heaved like 
the waves of the sea ; but beyond the terrible 
surging of those in front, whose heart-rending 
screams half drowned the whistles, there was no 
sign of retreat. As far as one could see, the 
streets were crowded v/ith living human flesh 
and blood. 

" My God ! My God !" said the engineer in 
despair. "What can be done? Lord have 
mercy on us all ! What can be done ?" 



"What can be done? I'll tell you what 
can be done, said one of Boston's firemen, 
whose hair was not yet sprinkled with gray. 
" Yes, ^ring out that powder ! And I'm the 
man to do it. Better one man perish than 
perish all. Follow me with the water, and, 
if God lets me live loner enough, I'll have it 
out." 

Perhaps, as the hero rushed into the burning 
pile, into a darkness of smoke and a withering 
heat, he thought of the wife and children at 
home, of the cheeks he had kissed in the evening, 
of the cheerful good-by of the prattling ones, 
and the laugh as he gave the " last tag ;" for as 
he rushed from the hoseman who tied the hand- 
kerchief over his mouth, he muttered, "God 
care for my little ones when I am gone. ' ' Away 
up through smoke and flame and cloud to the 
heights of Heaven's throne, ascended that prayer, 
" God care for my little ones when I am gone," 
and the Mighty Father and the Loving Son heard 
the fireman's petition. 

Into the flame of the rear store rushed the 
hero, and groping to the barrels, rolled them 
speedily to the alley, where surged the stream 
from the engines ; rushing back and forth with 
power superhuman, in the deepest smoke, when 
even the hoops that bound the powder-barrels 
had already parted with the fire, while deadly 
harpoons loaded to pierce the whales of the 
Arctic seas began to explode, and while iron darts 
flashed by him in all directions, penetrating the 
walls and piercing the adjacent buildings. But 
as if his heroic soul was an armor-proof, or a 
charm impenetrable, neither harpoon nor bomb, 
crumbling timbers nor showers of flaming brands, 
did him aught of injury, beyond the scorching of 
his hair and eyebrows, and the blistering of his 
hands and face. 'Twas a heroic deed. Did ever 
field of battle, wreck, or martyrdom, show a 
braver ? No act in all the list of song and story, 
no self-sacrifice in the history of the rise and fall 
of empires, was nobler than that, save one, and 
then the Son of God himself hung bleeding on 
the cross 

Russell H. Conwell. 



2(5(3 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 




iV 



— -^~' ^-^^^^^ ^^r^"^^. 'd'^^^^. 






In a little roadside cottage, half hid by shrubs and vines, 

A woman, old and feeble, on a faded couch reclines ; 

Her face is sweet, but sorrow has left its imprint there. 

And her voice tells not the burden that her God hath bid her bear. 

As I drink the limpid water from the homely, dripping gourd, 
I note on the wall before me a naked, rusty sword. 
I glance at the aged woman, and speaking she bows her head : 
*' 'Twas worn by a gallant soldier, for many a long year dead. 

*' One day, sir, I was looking where the road winds over there, 
Wishing the war was over and breathing a mother's prayer — 
I saw a wagon coming, and soldiers, all moving slow ; 
They were bringing my boy home, wounded — ah ! it's many a year 
ago. 

' ' I buried him there, by those willows — as you pass you can see his 

grave; 
Oh, stranger, my child was a comfort, but his heart it was true and 

brave!" 
Watching the pearls drop downward over her aged face, 
I mount, and I ride in silence away from the lonely place. 



But now I have reached the willows, and I leap to the shady ground \ 
I gather some wayside flowers to throw on his mossy mound. 
I care not if Grant has led him, nor if he has fought with Lee ; 
I am an American soldier — and so was he. 

George M. Vickers. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



267 



WATER AND RUM. 

The following apostrophe on Water and execration 
on Rum, by Mr. John B. Gough, was never published 
in full till after his death. He furnished it to a 
young friend many 5'^ears ago, who promised not to 
publish it while he was on the lecture platform. 

•T" "T'ATER ! There is no poison in that 
V/V/ cup ; no fiendish spirit dwells beneath 
those crystal drops 'to lure you and me 
and all of us to ruin ; no spectral shadows play 
upon its waveless surface ; no widows' groans or 
orphans' tears rise to God from those placid 
fountains; misery, crime, wretchedness, woe, 
want, and rags come not within the hallowed 
precincts where cold water reigns supreme. Pure 
now as when it left its native heaven, giving 
vigor to our youth, strength to our manhood, 
and solace to our old age. Cold water is beau- 
tiful and bright and pure everywhere. In the 
moonlight fountains and the sunny rills ', in the 
warbling brook and the giant river ; in the deep 
tangled wildwood and the cataract's spray; in 
the hand of beauty or on the lips of manhood — 
cold water is beautiful everywhere. 

Rum ! There is a poison in that cuj>. There 
is a serpent in that cup whose sting is madness 
and whose embrace is death. There dwells 
beneath that smiling surface a fiendish spirit 
which for centuries has been wandering over the 
earth, carrying on a war of desolation and de- 
struction against mankind, blighting and mil- 
dewing the noblest affections of the heart, and 
corrupting with its foul breath the tide of 
human life and changing the glad, green earth 
into a lazar-house. Gaze on it ! But shudder 
as you gaze ! Those sparkling drops are murder 
in disguise ; so quiet now, yet widows' groans 
and orphans' tears and maniacs' yells are in that 
cup. The worm that dieth not and the fire that 
is not quenched are in that cup. 

Peace and hope and love and truth dwell not 
within that fiery circle where dwells that deso- 
lating monster which men call rum. Corrupt 
now as when it left its native hell, giving fire to 
the eye, madness to the brain, and ruin to the 
soul. Rum is vile and deadly and accursed 
everywhere. The poet woulci likeu it in its fiery 



glow to the flames that flicker around the abode 
of the damned. The theologian would pomt 
you to the drunkard's doom, while the historian 
would unfold the dark record of the past and 
point you to the fate of empires and kingdoms 
lured to ruin by the siren song of the tempter, 
and sleeping now in cold obscurity, the wrecks 
of what once were great, grand, and glorious. 
Yes, rum is corrupt and vile and deadly, and 
accursed everywhere. Fit type and sembl^^nce 
of all earthly corruption ! 

Part II. 

Base art thou yet, oh. Rum, as when the vise 
man warned us of thy power and bade us flee thy 
enchantment. Vile art thou yet as when thou 
first went forth on thy unholy mission — filling 
earth with desolation and madness, woe and an- 
guish. Deadly art thou yet as when thy enven- 
omed tooth first took fast hold on human hearts, 
and thy serpent tongue first drank up the warm 
life-blood of immortal souls. Accursed art thou 
yet as when the bones of thy first victim rotted 
in a damp grave, and its shriek echoed along the 
gloomy caverns of hell. Yes, thou infernal 
spirit of rum, through all past time hast thou 
been, as through all coming time thou shalt be, 
accursed everywhere. 

In the fiery fountains of the still ; in the seeth- 
ing bubbles of the caldron ; in the kingly palace 
and the drunkard's hovel; in the rich man's 
cellar and the poor man's closet ; in the pestilen- 
tial vapors of foul dens and in the blaze of gilded 
saloons ; in the hand of beauty and on the lip 
of manhood. Rum is vile and deadly and ac- 
cursed everywhere. 

Rum, we yield not to thy unhallowed influence, 
and together we have met to plan thy destruction. 
And by what new name shall we call thee, and 
to what shall we liken thee when we speak of 
thy attributes ? Others may call thee child of 
perdition, the base-born progeny of sin and 
Satan, the murderer of mankind and the de- 
stroyer of immortal souls ; but I will give thee 
a new name among men and crown thee with a 
new horror, and that new name shall be the 



L'i;s 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



sacramental cup of the Rum-Power, and I will 
say to all the sons and daughters of earth — Dash 
it down ! And thou, Rum, shalt be my text in 
my pilgrimage among men, and not alone shall 
my tongue utter it, but the groans of orphans in 
their agony and the cries of widows in their 
desolation shall proclaim it tlie enemy of home, 
ihe traducer of childhood, and the destroyer of 
manhood, and whose only antidote is the sacra- 
mental cup of temperance, cold water ! 

John B. Gough. 

THE BRIDGE. 

(This is more effectively rendered by having music j 
played low and subdued while the words are being 
recited. ) 



I 



STOOD on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 
And the moon rose o'er the city. 
Behind the dark church tower ; 

And like the waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thought came o'er me. 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, O how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 
And gazed on that wave and sky 1 

How often, O how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

Aud the burden laid upon me, 
Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

' ike the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 



And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men. 
Each having his burden of sorrow. 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old, subdued and slowi 

And forever and forever. 

As long as the river flows. 
As long as the heart has passionfj 

As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 

And its shadows shall appear. 
As the symbol of love in heaven. 

And its wavering image here. 

Longfellow. 

THE LUTIST AND THE NIGHTIN 
GALE. 

[an instance of the power of music] 

(There are well authenticated cases of singing- 
birds that have dropped dead in the apparent effort 
to emulate the music produced from some instru- 
ment.) 

PASSING from Italy to Greece, the tales 
Which poets of an elder time have 
feigned 
To glorify their Tempe bred in me 
Desire of visiting this paradise. 
To Thessaly I came, and living private. 
Without acquaintance of more sweet companio/is 
Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts, 
I day by day frequented silent groves 
And solitary walks. One morning early 
This accident encountered me : I heard 
The sweetest and most ravis\iing contentioD 
That art and nature ever were at strife in. 

A sound of music touched mine ears, or rathei. 
Indeed, entranced my soul : as I stole nearer, 
Invited by the melody, I saw 
This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, 
With strains of strange vai-jety and harmony, 
Proclaiming, as it seemed, so bold a challenge 
To the clear choristers, of the woods, the birds, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 



2G9 



Tliai, as they flocked about him, all stood silent, 
Wondering at what they heard. I wondered too. 

A. nightingale, 

Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes 
The challenge ; and for every several strain 
The well-shaped youth could touch, she sang 

him down. 
He could not run divisions with more art 
Upon his quaking instrument than she. 
The nightingale, did with her various notes 
Reply to. 

Some time thus spent, the young man grew at 

last 
Into a pretty anger, that a bird, 
Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or 

notes. 
Should vie with him for mastery, whose study 
Had busied many hours to perfect practice. 
To end the controversy, — in a rapture 
Upon his instrument he plays so swiftly, 
So many voluntaries, and so quick. 
That there was curiosity in cunning, 
Concord in discord, lines of differing method 
Meeting in one full centre of delight. 

The bird (ordained to be 

Music's true martyr) strove to imitate 

These several sound? j which, when her warbling 

throat 
Failed in, for grief lown dropt she on his lute, 
And brake her heart. It was the quaintest 

sadness 
To see the conqueror upon her hearse 
To weep a funeral elegy of tears. 

He looked upon the trophies of his art, 

Then sighed, then wiped his eyes ; then sighed 

and cried, 
** Alas ! poor creature, I will soon revenge 
This cruelty upon the author of it. 
Henceforth this' lute, guilty of innocent blood. 
Shall never more betray a harmless peace 
To an untimely end ! " — ^And in that sorrow 
As he was dashing it against a tree 
I suddenly stept in. Ford. 



RIZPAH, 
Wife of Saul, King or Israel. 

2 Samuel, xxi. i-ii. 

Copyrighted by George M. Vickers, 1897. 

(By permission of the Author. ) 

NIGHT came at last. The noisy thronj? 
had gone. 
And where the sun so late, like alchemist. 
Turned spear and shield and chariot to gold 
No sound was heard. 

The awful deed was done j 
And vengeance sated to the full had turned 
Away. The Amorites had drunk the blood 
Of Saul and were content. The last armed guard 
Had gone, and stillness dwelt upon the scene. 
The rocky mount slept fast in solitude ; 
The dry, dead shrubs stood weird and grim, and 

marked 
The narrow, heated road that sloped and wound 
To join the King's highway. No living thing 
Was seen ; nor insect, bird nor beast was heard ; 
The very air came noiselessly across 
The blighted barley fields below, yet stirred 
No leaflet with its sultry breath. 

Above, 
A mist half hid the vaulted firmament. 
And stars shone dimly as though through a verl > 
Still was their light full adequate to show 
Those rigid shapes that seeming stood erect. 
Yet bleeding hung, each from its upright cross, 
A mute companion to its ghastly kin. 

The middle watch was come, yet silence still 
Oppressed the night ; the twigs stood motionless 
Like listening phantoms, when, from out 
The shadow of a jutting rock there came 
A moving thing of life, a wolf-like form. 
With slow and stealthy tread it came, then stopped 
To sniff the air, then nearer moved to where 
The seven gibbets stood. 

Then came a shriek, 
A cry of mortal fear that pierced the soul 
Of night ; then up from earth a figure sprang, 
The frightened jackal leaped away, and once 
More Rizpah crouched beneath her dead. 

So night 
And day she watched ; beneath the burning suii 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



By day, beneath the stars and moon by night ; 
All through the long Passover Feast she watched. 
Oft in the lonely vigil back through years 
She went ; in fancy she was young again, 
The favored one of mighty Saul, the King ; 
Again she mingled with the courtly throng, 
And led her laughing boys before her lord, 
Iheir father. 

Starting then, with upturned face, 
And gazing from her hollow, tearless eyes, 
Her blackened lips would move, but make no 

sound. 
Then sinking to the ground she caught once 

more 
The thread of thought, and thought brought other 

scenes ; 
She saw the stripling warrior David, son 
Of Jesse, whom the populace adored 
And Saul despised ; then Merab came, and then 
Her sweet-faced sister, Michal, whose quick wit 
And love save David's life. 

Then Rizpah rose, 
Yea, like a tigress sprang unto her feet. 
"Thou David, curst be thee and thine!" she 

shrieked, 
" Thou ingrate murderer ! Had Saul but lived. 
And hadst thou fallen upon thy sword instead. 
My sons, my children still would live !" 

'Twas in 
I "he morning watch, and Rizpah' s last, that 

bright, 
Clear glowed the Milky Way. The Pleiades 
Like molten gold shone forth ; e'en Sisyphus 
Peeped tknidly, and with her sisters gazed 
I'pon the Seven crucified below, 
^•ich cause for woman's pity ne'er was seen, 
\ikI stars, e'en stones might weep for Rizpah's 

woe, 
Whose mother-love was deathless as her soul. 

The gray dawn came. The sky was overcast ; 
The wind had changed, and sobbed a requiem, 
ill Rizpah slept, and dreamed. She heard the 
sound 
( )f harps and timbrels in her girlhood home — 
^Vhen rush of wings awakened her. She rose. 



Her chilled form shaking unto death. She 

looked. 
And saw the loathsome vultures at their work. 
With javelin staff in hand she beat them off. 
But bolder were they as she weaker grew, 
Till one huge bird swooped at her fierce. 
And sunk its talons in her wasted arm. 
She threw it off, the hideous monster fled, 
And Rizpah fell. It then began to rain. 
The famine ceased, and Rizpah' s watch was done. 
George M. Vickers; 

SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN. 

( Pathetic and dramatic. ) 

HOLD the lantern aside, and shudder not so ; 
There's more blood to see than this stain 
on the snow ; 
There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over 

there, 
And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked 

hair. 
Did you think, when we came, you and I, out 

to-night 
To search for our dead, yon would be a fair 
sight ? 

You're his wife ; you love him^ — you think so; 

and I 
Am only his mother ; my boy shall not lie 
In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can 

bear 
His form to a grave that mine own may soon 

share. 
So, if your strength fails, best go sit by the 

hearth. 
While his mother alone seeks his bed on the 

earth. 

You will go ? then no faintings ! give me the 

light. 
And follow my footsteps — my heart will lead 

right. 
Ah, God ! what is here ? a great heap of the slain, 
All mangled and gory ! — what horrible pain 
These beings have died in ! Dear mothers, - ' 

weep, 
Ye weep, oh, ye weep o'er this terrible sleep . 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



271 



More ! more ! Ah ! I thought I could never- 
more know 
Grief, horror, or pity, for aught here below, 
Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief 

tell 
How brave was my son, how he gallantly fell. 
Did they think I cared then to see officers stand 
Before my great sorrow, each hat in each hand ? 

Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor 

fright. 
That your red hands turn over toward this dim 

light 
These dead men that stare so ? Ah, if you had 

kept 
Your senses this morning ere his comrades had 

left. 
You had heard that his place was worst of them 

all,— 
Not 'mid the stragglers, — where he ^ought he 

would fall. 

There's the moon through the clouds : O Christ, 

what a scene ! 
Dost Thou from Thy heavens o'er such visions 

lean. 
And still call this cursed world a footstool of 

Thine ? 
Hark ! a groan ! there another, — here in this 

line 
Piled close on each other ! Ah, here is the flag. 
Torn, dripping with gore ; — bah ! they died for 

this rag. 

Here's the voice that we seek; poor soul, do 

not start ; 
We're women, not ghosts. What a gash o^er 

the heart ! 
Is there aught we can do? A message to give 
To any beloved one ? I swear, if I live. 
To take it for sake of the words my boy said, 
''Home," ''mother," ''wife," ere he reeled 

down 'mong the dead. 

But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood ? 
Speak, speak, man, or point; 'twas the Ninth. 
Oh, the blood 



Is choking his voice ! What a look of despair ! 
There, lean on my knee, while I put back the 

hair 
From eyes so fast glazing. Oh, my darling, my 

own, 
My hands were both idle when you died alone. 

He's dying — he's dead ! Close his lids, let us go. 
God's peace on his soul ! If we only could 

know 
Where our own dear one lies! — my soul has 

turned sick ; 
Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie here so 

thick ? 
I cannot ! I cannot ! How eager you are ! 
One might think you were nursed on the red lap 

of War. 

He's not here — and not here. What wild hopes 

flash through 
My thoughts, as, foot-deep, I stand in this dread 

dew. 
And cast up a prayer to the blue, quiet sky i 
Was it you, girl, that shrieked ? Ah ! what face 

doth lie 
Upturned toward me there, so rigid and white ? 
O God, my brain reels ! 'Tis a dream. My old 

sight 

Is dimmed with these horrors. My son ! oh, my 

son ! 
Would I had died for thee, my own, only one ! 
There, lift off your arms ; let him come to the 

breast 
Where first he was lulled, with my soul's hymn, 

to rest. 
Your heart never thrilled to your lover's fond 

kiss 
As mine to his baby-touch ; was it for this r 

He was yours, too ; he loved you ! Yes, yes, 
you're right. 

Forgive me, my daughter, I'm maddened to- 
night. 

Don't moan so, dear child; you're young, and 
your years 

May still hold fair hopes ; but the old die of tears. 



272 



MlbLELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Ves, take him again ; — ah ! don't lay your face 

there ; 
See the blood from his wound has stained your 

loose hair. 

How quiet you are ! Has she fainted ? — her 

cheek 
Is cold as his own. Say a word to me, — speak ! 
Am I crazed? Is she dead? Has her heart 

broke first? 
Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine is worst. 
I'm afraid, I'm afraid, all alone with these 

dead ; 
Those corpses are stirring ; God help my poor 

head ! 

I'll sit by my children until the men come 
To bury the others, and then we'll go home. 
Why, the slain are all dancing ! Dearest, don't 

move. 
Keep away from my boy ; he's guarded by love. 
Lullaby, lullaby ; sleep, sweet darling, sleop ! 
God and thy mother will watch o'er the keep ! 

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

SOMEWHAT back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat ; 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw ; 
And, from its station in the hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all, 
* * Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

By day its voice is low and light ; 
But in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echoes along the vacant hall. 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say at each chamber door, 
' ' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood. 



And as if, like God, it all things saw. 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, 
' * Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
That warning timepiece never ceased, 
*' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! " 

There groups of merry children played ; 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
Oh, precious hours ! oh, golden prime 
And affluence of love and time ! 
Even as a miser couiits his gold, 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
" Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead lay, in his shroud of snow ; 
And, in the hush that followed the prayer. 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
' * Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands. 
From its case of massive oak. 
Like a monk who, under his cloak. 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
' * Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

All are scattered, now, and fled, — 
Some are married, some are dead : 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
'Ah ! when shall they all meet again? " 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply; 
*' Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



273 



Nerer here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care 
And death, and time shall disappear, — 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologue of Eternity 
Sa}'eth this incessantly, 

' * Forever — never ! 
Never — forever ! ' ' 

H. W. Longfellow. 

TOM'S THANKSGIVING. 

(By permission of the Author.) 

THE smoke rose straight from the chimney 
Till lost in the autumn air. 
And the trees round the little cottage 

Stood motionless and bare ; 
But within there was life and bustle. 

There was warmth in the kitchen stove, 
And the smile of a patient woman. 
And the glow of a deathless love„ 

f he cakes and pies on the dresser 

Stood ranged in a tempting row, 
And the table-cloth on a chair-back 

Was smooth and as white as snow ; 
On the table, 'mid bags and baskets, 

A big, fat turkey lay. 
For Tom, our Tom, was coming 

To spend Thanksgiving Day. 

Yes, Tom had sent us a letter. 

The first that had come for years, 
And we read it all over and over 

Till its lines were dimmed with tears : 
The boy who had nigh disgraced us. 

Whose mem'ry was dead to some. 
The wayward, the lost, was coming; 

Thank God, he was coming home. 

To-day, as I think it over, 

The old scene comes back again. 
And I see their anxious faces 

As plain as I saw them then ; 
' can see poor grief-bowed father 

Standing by mother's side. 
Both peering out through the window. 

Trying their fears to hide. 

18 



1 can see a manly horseman 

Dismount at the cottage door, 
And remember the kindly message 

That from absent Tom he bore ; 
I remember how mother detected 

The cheat, and then swooned away ; 
And forever I'll still remember 

That sweet Thanksgiving Day. 

George M. Vickers. 

COMBAT OF FITZ-JAMES AND 
RODERICK. 

(Descriptive and dramatic.) 

THE chief in silence strode before. 
And reached the torrent's sounding shore ; 
And here, at length, his course he staid. 
Threw down his target and his plaid. 
And to the Lowland warrior said : 
*' Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust ; 
This murderous chief, this ruthless man. 
This head of a rebellious clan. 
Hath led thee safe through watch and ward. 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel. 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel ! 
See, here, all vantageless I stand. 
Armed, like thyself, with single brand ^ 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword. ** 

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delayed 

When foeman bade me draw my blade : 

Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death ! 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith. 

And my deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved. 

Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means ?' ' — ' ' No, stranger, none U-<- 

Not yet prepared ? By heaven, I change 

My thought, and hold thy valor light, 

As that of some vain carpet-knight. 

Who ill deserved my courteous care. 

And whose best boast is but to wear 

A braid of his fair lady^s hair ! " — 

'^ I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ; 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ! 



274 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy veie. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone 1 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud chief, can courtesy be shown : 
Though not from copse, or heath, or calm, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — what thou wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt ! " 

Then each at once his falchion drew. 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw j 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what he ne'er might see again. 
Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw ; 
Whose brazen studs, and tough bull-hide, 
Had death so often dashed aside : 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz- James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practiced every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, — 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain. 
And showered his blows like wintry rain , 
And, as firm rock, or castle roof. 
Against the winter-shower is proof. 
The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand ; 
And, backward borne upon the lea, 
Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 

** Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade! 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 



Like adder darting from his coil, 

Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 

Like mountain-cat who guards her youngs 

Full at Fitz- James's throat he sprung ; 

Received, but recked not of, a wound, 

And locked his arms his foeman round. 

Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 

No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 

Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 

They tug, they strain ! Down, down they go. 

The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 

The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed ; 

His knee was planted on his breast ; 

His clotted locks he backward threw. 

Across his brow his hand he drew, 

From blood and mist to clear his sight ; 

Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 

But hate and fury ill supplied 

The stream of life's exhausted tide. 

And all too late the advantage came. 

To turn the odds of deadly game ; 

For, while the dagger gleamed on high. 

Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 

Down came the blow ! but in the heath 

The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 

The struggling foe may now unclasp 

The fainting chief's relaxing grasp. 

Un wounded from the dreadful close. 

But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



D 



THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. 

(Dramatic and pathetic. ) 

ARK is the night ! How dark ! No light ; 

no fire ! 

Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks 
expire ! 
Shivering, she watches by the cradle-side. 
For him, who pledged her love — last year a 
bride ! 

''Hark! 'tis his footstep! No! 'tis past! — 

'tis gone !" 
Tick ! — tick ! — '* How wearily the time crawls 

on ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



275 



Why should he leave me thus? — He once was 

kind ! 
And I believed 'twould last ! — How mad ! — 

ilow blind ! 

*' Rest thee, my babe ! — Rest on ! — 'Tis hunger's 

cry ! 
Sleep ! — for there is no food ! — the fount is dry ! 
Famine and cold their wearying work have 

done. 
My heart must break ! And thou !" The clock 

strikes one. 

'* Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes ! he's there ! 

he's there ! 
For this ! — for this he leaves me to despair ! 
Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his child ! 

for what ? 
The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot ! 

'* Yet I'll not curse him. No ! 'tis all in vaiR ! 
*Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again ! 
And I could starve, and bless him, but iox you, 
My child ! his child ! Oh, fiend !" The clock 
strikes two. 

" Hark ! how the signboard creaks ! The blast 

howls by. 
Moan 1 Moan ! a dirge swells through the 

cloudy sky ! 
Ha ! 'tis his knock ! he comes ! he comes once 

more ! " 
'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er ! 

' ' Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay. 
Night after night, in loneliness, to pray 
For his return— and yet he sees no tear ! 
No ! no ! it cannot be ! He will be here ! 

** Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! 
Thou'rt cold! thou'rt freezing! But we will 

not part ! : 

Husband ! — I die ! — Father ! It is not he ! 
O God ? protect my child ! ' ' The clock strikes 

three. 

They're gone, they're gone ! the glimmering 

spark hath fled ! 
The wife and child are numbered with the dead. 



On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn rest, 
The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast : 
The gambler- came at last — but all was o'er — 
Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck 
four! Reynell Coaxes. 

THE CRUCIFIXION. 

I ASKED the heavens :—** What foe to God 
had done 
This unexampled deed?" The heavens 
exclaim, 
** 'Twas man; and we in horror snatched the sun 

From such a spectacle of guilt and shame. ' * 
I asked the sea ; the sea in fury boiled, 

And answered, with his voice of storms,— 
** 'Twas man; 
My waves in panic at his crime recoiled, 

Disclosed the abyss, and from the center ran. ** 
I asked the earth : — the earth replied, aghast, 
'*'Twas man; and such strange pangs my 
bosom rent. 
That still I groan and shudder at the past. ' ' 

To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, I went. 
And asked him next : — he turned a scornful eye. 
Shook his proud head, and deigned me no reply. 

Montgomery. 

NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. 

TALKING of sects till late one eve. 
Of various doctrines the saints believe, 
That night I stood, in a troubled dream. 
By the side of a darkly- flowing stream. 

And a *' Churchman " down to the river came : 
When I heard a strange voice call his name, 
*' Good father, stop ; when you cross the tide, 
You must leave your robes on the other side." 

But the aged father did not mind ; 
And his long gown floated out behind. 
As down to the stream his way he took. 
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. 

*^ I'm bound for heaven; and when I'm there. 
Shall want my Book of Common Prayer ; 
And, though I put on a starry crown, 
I should feel quite lost without my gown." 



276 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track, 
But his gown was heavy and held him back, 
And the poor old father tried in vain 
A single step in flood to gain. 

I saw him again on the other side, 
. But his silk gown floated on the tide ; 
And no one asked in that blissful spot, 
Whether he belonged to the *' Church " or not. 

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed ; 
His dress of a sober hue was made : 
** My coat and hat must all be gray — 
I cannot go any other way." 

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin. 

And staidly, solemnly waded in 

And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down 

tight, 
Over his forehead so cold and white. 

But a strong wind carried away his hat ; 
A moment he silently sighed over that ; 
And then, as he gazed to the further shore. 
The coat slipped off", and was seen no more. 

As he entered heaven his suit of gray 
Went quietly, sailing, away, away ; 
And none of the angels questioned him 
About the width of his beaver's brim. 

Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of psalms 
Tied nicely up in his aged arms. 
And hymns as many, a very wise thing, 
That the people in heaven, '* all round," might 
sing. 

But I thought that he heaved an anxious sigh. 
And he saw that the river ran broad and high, 
And looked rather surprised, as one by one 
The psalms and hymns in the wave went down. 

And after him, with his MSS., 

Came Wesley, the pattern of goodlincss ; 

But he cried, ** Dear me ! what shall I do ? 

The water has soaked them through and through. ' ' 



And there on the river far and wide, 
Away they went down the swollen tide ; 
And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, 
Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. 

Then, gravely walking, two saints by name 
Down to the stream together came ; 
But, as they stopped at the river's brink, 
I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

*' Sprinkled or plunged ? may I ask you, friend. 

How you attained to hfe's great end ? " 

'' 77///J-, with a few drops on my brow." 

" But /have been dipped, as you'll see me now, 

*'And I really think it will hardly do. 
As I'm * close communion,' to cross with you, 
You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, 
But you must go that way, and I'll go this." 

Then straightway plunging with all his might, 
Away to the left — his friend to the right. 
Apart they went from this world of sin, 
But at last together they entered in. 

And now, when the river was rolling on, 

A Presbyterian Church went down ; 

Of women there seemed an innumerable throng, 

But the men I could count as they passed along. 

And concerning the road, they could never agree 
The old or the /lew way, which it could be. 
Nor ever a moment paused to think 
That both would lead to the river's brink. 

And a sound of murmuring, long and loud. 

Came ever up from the moving crowd ; 

*' You're in the old way, and I'm in the new; 

That is the false, and this is the true " — 

Or, '* I'm in the old way, and you're in the new; 

T/iaf is the false, and //it's is the true. ' ' 

But the brethren only seemed to speak : 
Modest the sisters walked and meek, 
And if ever one of them chanced to saj 
What troubles she met with on the way, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



277 



How aue longed to pass to the other side, 
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide. 

A voice arose from the brethren then, 
*' Let no one speak but the ' holy men ; ' 
For have ye not heard the words of Paul, 
*0h, let the women keep silence all?' " 

I watched them long in my curious dream, 
Till they stood by the borders of the stream ; 
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met ; 
But all the brethren were talking yet, 
And would talk on till the heaving tide 
Carried them over side by side — 
Side by side, for the way was one ; 
The toilsome journey of life was done ; 
And all who in Christ the Saviour dieo 
Come out alike on the other side. 

No forms of crosses or books had they ; 
No gowns of silk or suits of gray ; 
No creeds to guide them, or MSS. ; 
For all had put on Christ's righteousness. 

GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA. 

(Pathetic reading. ) 

THE words of a blue-eyed child as she kissed 
her chubby hand and looked down the 
stairs, *' Good-night, papa; Jessie see 
you in the morning. ' ' 

It came to be a settled thing, and every even- 
ing as the mother slipped the white night-gown 
over the plump shoulders, the little one stopped 
on the stairs and sang out, ** Good-night, papa," 
and as the father heard the silvery accents of the 
child, he came, and taking the cherub in his 
arms, kissed her tenderly, while the mother's 
eyes filled, and a swift prayer went up ; for, 
strange to say, this man who loved his child with 
all the warmth of his great noble nature, had one 
fault to mar his manliness. From his youth he 
loved the wine-cup. Genial in spirit, and with 
a fascination of manner that won him friends, 
he could not resist when surrounded by his boon 
companions. Thus his home was darkened, the 
heart of his wife bruised and K'^'idirr, the future 
of his child shadowed. 



Three years had the winsome prattle of the 
baby crept into the avenues of the father's heart, 
keeping him closer to his home, but still the 
fatal cup was in his hand. Alas for frail human- 
ity, insensible to the calls of love ! With un^ 
utterable tenderness God saw there was no other 
way ; this father was dear to him, the purchase 
of his Son ; he could not see him perish, and, 
calling a swift messenger, he said, " Speed thee 
to earth and bring the babe." 

** Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. 
What was there in the voice ? was it the echo of 
the mandate, ^* Bring me the babe?" — a silvery, 
plaintive sound, a lingering music that touched 
the father's heart as when a cloud crosses the 
sun. " Good-night, my darling ; " but his lips 
quivered and his broad brow grew pale. '* Is 
Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are flushed, 
and her eyes have a strange light. ' ' 

*' Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss 
the flushed brow; *'she may have played too 
much. Pet is not sick ? ' ' 

** Jessie tired, mamma; good- night, papa; 
Jessie see you in the morning. ' ' 

*' That is all, she is only tired," said the 
mother, as she took the small hand. Another 
kiss, and the father turned away ; but his heart 
was not satisfied. 

Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie was 
restless, and could not sleep. " Tell me a 
story, mamma; " and the mother told her of 
the blessed babe that Mary cradled, following 
along the story till the child had grown to walk 
and play. The blue, wide-open eyes, filled with 
a strange light, as though she saw and compre- 
hended more than the mother knew. 

That night the father did not visit the saloon ; 
tossing on his bed, starting from a feverish sleep 
and bending oVcr the crib, the long, weary 
hours passed. Morning revealed the truth — 
Jessie was smitten with the fever. 

'* Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; ''a. few 
days of good nursing, and she will be all right." 

Words easily said ; but the father saw a look 
on that sweet face such as he had seen before. 
He knew the messenger was at the door. 



278 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Night came. ** Jessie is sick; can't say 
good-night, papa;" and the little clasping 
fingers clung to the father'^ hand. 

** O God, spare her ! I cannot, cannot bear 
it ! " was wrung from his suffering heart. 

Days passed ; the mother was tireless in her 
watching. With her babe cradled in her arms 
her heart was slow to take in the truth, doing 
her best to solace the father's heart; *'a 
light case ! the doctor says Pet will soon be 
well." 

Calmly as one who knows his doom, the 
father laid his hand upon the hot brow, looked 
into the eyes even then covered with the film of 
death, and with all the strength of his manhood 
cried: ** Spare her, O God! spare my child, 
and I will follow thee." 

With a last painful effort the parched lips 
opened: ''Jessie's too sick; can't say good- 
night, papa — in the morning." There was a 
convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers 
relaxed their hold ; the messenger had taken the 
child. 

Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by 
the side of her father's couch ; her blue em- 
broidered dress and white hat hang in his closet ; 
her boots with the print of her feet just as she had 
last worn them, as sacred in his eyes as they are 
in the mother's. Not dead, but merely risen to 
a higher life ; while, sounding down from the 
upper stairs, - ' Good-night, papa ; Jessie see you 
in the morning, ' ' has been the means of winning 
to a better way one who had shown himself deaf 
to every former call. 

PLEDGE WITH WINE. 

(Temperance reading. ) 
**Tr^ LEDGE with wine — pledge with wine ! " 

j-^^ cried the young and thoughtless Harry 
Wood. "Pledge with wine," ran 
through the brilliant crowd. 

The beautiful bride grew pale — the decisive 
hour had come, — she pressed her white hands 
together, and the leaves of her bridal wreath 
trembled on her pure brow ; her breath came 
quicker, her heart beat wilder. From her child- 



hood she had been most solemnly oppijseu to the 
use of all wines and liquors. 

* * Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for this 
once," said the judge in a low tone, going 
towards his daughter, ' ' the company expect it ; 
do not so seriously infringe upon the rules of 
etiquette ; — in your own house act as you please ; 
but in mine, for this once please me. ' ' 

Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. 
Marion's principles were well known. Henry 
had been a convivialist, but of late his friends 
noticed the change in his manners, the differ- 
ence in his habits — and to-night they watched 
him to see, as they sneeringly said, if he was tied 
down to a woman's opinion so soon. 

Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with 
tempting smiles towards Marion. She was very 
pale, though more composed, and her hand 
shook not, as smiling back, she gratefully ac- 
cepted the crystal tempter and raised it to her 
lips. But scarcely had she done so, when every 
hand was arrested by her piecing exclamation 
of " Oh, how terrible ! " '' What is it ? " cried 
one and all, thronging together, for she had 
slowly carried the glass at arm's length, and was 
fixedly regarding it as though it were some 
hideous object. 

' Wait, ' ' she answered, while an inspired 
light shone from her dark eyes, ** wait and I will 
tell you. I see," she added, slowly pointing 
one jewelled finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, 
' ' a sight that beggars all description ; and yet 
listen ; I will paint it for you if I can : It is a 
lonely spot ; tall mountains, crowned^ with ver- 
dure, rise in awful sublimity around ; a river runs 
through, and bright flowers grow to the water's 
edge. There is a thick, warm mist that the sun 
seeks vainly to pierce ; trees, lofty and beautiful, 
wave to the airy motion of the birds ; but there, 
a group of Indians gather ; they flit to and fro 
with something like sorrow upon their dark 
brows ; and in • their midst lies a manly form, 
but his cheek, how deathly ; his eye wild with 
the fitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside 
him, nay, I should say kneels, for he is pij low- 
ing that poor head upon his breast. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



279 



'* Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy-look- 
ing brow ! Why should death mark it, and he 
so young ? Look how he throws the damp curls ! 
see him clasp his hands ! hear his thrilling 
shrieks for life ! mark how he clutches at the 
form of his companion, imploring to be saved. 
Oh ! hear him call piteously his father's name ; 
see him twine his fingers together as he shrieks 
for his sister — his only sister — the twin of his 
soul — weeping for him in his distant native 
land. 

' ^ See ! ' ' she exclaimed, while the bridal party 
shrank back, the untasted wine trembling in 
their faltering grasp, and the judge fell, over- 
powered, upon his seat ; ' ' see ! his arms are 
lifted to heaven; he prays, how wildly, for 
mercy ! hot fever rushes through his veins. 
The friend beside him is weeping ; awe-stricken, 
the dark men move silently, and leave the living 
and dying together. " 

There was a hush in that princely p^^rlor, 
broken only by what seemed a smothered sob, 
from some manly bosom. The bride stood yet 
upright, with quivering lip, and tears stealing 
to the outward edge of her lashes. Her beau- 
tiful arm had lost its tension, and the glass, with 
its little troubled red waves, came slowly towards 
the range of her vision. She spoke again ; 
every lip was mute. Her voice was low, faint, 
yet awfully distinct : she still fixed her sorrowful 
glance upon the wine-cup. 

'^ It is evening now ; the great white moon is 
coming up, and her beams lie gently on his fore- 
head. He moves not ; his eyes are set in their 
sockets ; dim are their piercing glances ; in vain 
his friend whispers the name of father and sister 
— death is there. Death ! and no soft hand, no 
gentle voice to bless and soothe him. His 
head sinks back ! one convulsive shudder 1 he is 
dead ! " 

A groan ran through the assembly, so vivid 
was her description, so unearthly her look, so 
inspired her manner, that what she described 
seemed actually to have taken place then and 
there. They noticed also, that the bridegroom 
hid his face in his hands and was weeping. 



" Dead ! *' she repeated again, her lips quiver- 
ing faster and faster, and her voice more and 
more broken: **and there they scoop him a 
grave ; and there, without a shroud, they lay 
him down in the damp, reeking earth. The 
only son of a proud father, the only idolized 
brother of a fond sister. And he sleeps to-day 
in that distant country, with no stone to mark 
the spot. There he lies — my father's son — my 
own twin brother ! a victim to this deadly 
poison." ''Father," she exclaimed, turning 
suddenly, while the tears rained down her beau- 
tiful cheeks, '' father, shall I drink it now? " 

The form of the old judge was convulsed with 
agony. He raised his head, but in a smothered 
voice he faltered — " No, no, my child; in God's 
name, no." 

She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it 
suddenly fall to the floor it was dashed into a 
thousand pieces. Many a tearful eye watched 
her movements, and instantaneously every wine- 
glass was transferred to the marble table on 
which it had been prepared. Then, as she 
looked at the fragments of crystal, she turned 
to the company, saying : ' ' Let no friend, here- 
after, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul 
for wine. Not firmer the everlasting hills than 
my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or 
taste that terrible poison. And he to whom I 
have given my hand ; who watched over my 
brother's dying form in that last solemn hour, 
and buried the dear wanderer there by the river 
in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in 
that resolve. Will you not, my husband ? ' ' 

His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile was 
her answer. 

The judge left the room, and when an hour 
later he returned, and with a more subdued 
manner took part; in the entertainment of the 
bridal guests, no one could fail to read that he, 
too, had determined to dash the enemy at once 
and forever from his princely rooms. 

Those who were present at that wedding, 
can never forget the impression so solemnly 
made. Many from that hour forswore the social 
glass. 



280 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



THE THIEF ON THE CROSS. 

(By permission of the Author.) 

[Argument :— In order to portray the bold, defiant nature 
orthe thief, he is first presculcd to the reader while lying in 
wait for a traveller, whom he attacks; during th^ cornbat the 
traveller momentarily gains the tuastery, and the thief's life 
is threatened. Yet he scorns to plead for mercy, but, with a 
sudden effurt, overpowers the traveller, whom he robs and 
leaves by the wayside. Again he is discovered in prison. It 
is the day of execution, just prior to the dread march to Cal- 
varj' ; here once more he shows an indomilablt spirit — proud 
to the very death. The final scene is upon the cross, where, 
witnessing the sufferings and marvellous magnanimity' of tke 
dying Christ, he at last succumbs to the mighty power of 
love.J 

CROUCHING low, but not with fear, 
A robber earthward bends his ear ; 
The distant footfalls nearer grow- • 
Hesitating, stumbling, slow ; 
Then quicker, as the 'lated wight 
Beholds each cheerful, twinkling light : 
Jerusalem lies at his feet, 
Anon he'll tread the lively street ; 
Soon OUvet will be descended, 
Kedror^ crossed, his journey ended ; 
And, as he nears her looming walls. 
The gladdening sight his strength recalls. 

II. 
But hark ! What awful shrieks are those 
That break the peaceful night's repose ! 
Two darksome forms, like goblins grim, 
Weird antics cut in the starlight dim : 
Advancing — retreating — a parry, a thrust. 
Now having the ' vantr\ge, now prone in the dust — 
Ha ! See ! The traveller's gleaming knife 
Has all but reached the bandit's life ! 
But the groan suppressed by an iron will 
His mettle proves, though bandit still ; 
E'en wounded, yet he scowls disdain. 
The gash ignores, unhceds the pain : 
He scorns to cringe — but, with a bound. 
Hurls crushed his victim to the ground ' 

III. 
*Twas morn in ancient Palestine, 
The air was hushed, the sky serene; 
No leaflet stirred, no warbler sang; 
Yet nature seemed to feel a pang. 
But why? The dewdrop spairVl<;d st'h 
Fair blossoms scented vale and hill — 
E'en the sunward sky poured forth its flooJ, 
Its red, inverted sea of blood. 



IV. 
Ho ! Barabbas, ho ! Hear Pilate's decree t 
The Nazarene diest, but thou goest free ! 
Off went the shackles, and forth from the cell 
Stepped the bold felon ; then followed the yell, 
The cry of despair, and of anguish, and pain, 
As the. door of the dungeon swung to again. 
Yet within the walls of that living grave 
Was a bandit bad — but a bandit brave ; 
He was one of the three in that prison-room 
Who hopelessly waited a terrible doom ; 
Yet he stood with his arms athwart his breast^ 
And the measured rise and the fall o* the chest. 
With the sweeping glance of his fearless eye, 
All told of a villain that dared to die J 



Already there floated within the gate 
Wild rumors of how they met their fate, — 
Of the earnest though haughty mien of him 
Who shuddered and writhed on an outer limb , 
Of the One who imploringly raised his eyes, 
Who seemed to be gazing beyond the skies ; 
Of another who jeered in the jaws of death, 
And cursed the law with his waning breath ; 
Of the which should be fira-c or latest tc die, 
As happened the thooghts of the passers-by. 

VI. 

But out on thw rwd as ye move along. 
Behold the retP.rning, the sated throng ' 
Press onward and upward — thrust them aside ; 
Theii flush of confusion shall be your guide ; 
Hdit 1 Rigidly, grimly there hang the thre*>- - 
On the veriest crest of Calvary ! 
Lock at the sunken, the bloodshot eye 
Of the raving blasphemer about to die : 
Note how he gasps, how he twists with pain, 
Cursing, and cursing, yet cursing in vain ! 
And the One in the centre, say, who is He 
Whom the soldiers and rabble press round to 

see? 
What legend of crime, what sign of disgrace. 
That flutters and flares at the populace ? 
Come, read what is writ o'er the victim's head- 
Soft ! Ye must move with a reverent tread. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



^O i. 



VII. 
rind thus nm the words that your eyes peruse : 
/esus of Nazareth^ the King of the Jews ! 
A feandit hath seen them, and read them, too, 
And he scans them again, like the thing were new : 
And each time the meek Monarch breathes forth 

a prayer 
It seemeth to lessen the robber's despair, 
For the proud look of courage fades out from his 

face, 
And a tender expression beams forth in its place. 
Perhaps as the soul is about to take flight, 
New scenes glad the view of its wondering sight, 
As mariners nearing a newly-found shore 
Gaze enraptured on beauties unheard of before. 

VIII. 
Still he dwells on the face of the crucified King, 
Nor gives heed to the shouts that derisively ring; 
On the thorn-tortured brow, on the dry, moving 

lips, 
On the blood that adown the pale cheek slowly 

drips ; 
All, all meet his gaze, and he utters a sigh. 
While a single bright teardrop starts forth from 

his eye. 
As the pain-stricken babe to its mother reveals. 
By the language of looks, the keen anguish i/" 

feels. 
So the robber's sad glances now seem to impart 
To yon Jesus the weight of remorse at his heart. 

IX. 
Remember me, Lord ! Hear the bandit implore ! 
He whom life could not tempt to crave pity before. 
What strange fascination hath conquered the thief? 
What power converts to the mystic belief? 
And the merciful Jesus replies from the tree : 
'' In Paradise with me this day shalt thou be ! " 

Oh, love is the victor that taketh the heart. 
Than the lightning 'tis swifter, and stronger than 

art ; 
In the sea, in the earth, in the heavens above. 
There dwelleth no power more mighty than love ! 
George M. Vickers. 



I 



PAPA'S LETTER. 

WAS sitting in my study, 
Writing letters, when I heard, 

' Please, dear mamma, Mary told me 
Mamma musn't be 'isturbed. 



*'But I'se tired of the kitty. 
Want some ozzer fing to do, 
Witing letters, is 'ou, mamma? 
Tan't I wite a letter too?" 

''Not now, darling, mamma's busy: 
Run and play with kitty, now.'* 

''No, no, mamma; me wite letter. 
Tan if 'ou will show me how." 

I would paint my darling's portrait 

As his sweet eyes searched my face- 
Hair of gold and eyes of azure. 
Form of childish, witching grace. 

But the eager face was clouded. 
As I slowly shook my head, 

Till I said, "I'll make a letter 
Of you, darling boy, instead." 

So I parted back the tresses 

From his forehead high and whit^ 

And a stamp in sport I pasted 
'Mid its waves of golden light. 

Then I said, ' ' Now, little letter, 
Go away and bear good news. ' ' 

And I smiled as down the staircase 
Clattered loud the little shoes. 

Leaving me, the darling hurried , 
Down to Mary in his glee, 
''Mamma's writing lots of letters ; 
I'se a letter, Mary — see !" 

No one heard the little prattler. 
As once more he climbed the stair. 

Reached his little cap and tippet. 
Standing on the entry stair. 

No one heard the front door open. 
No one saw the golden hair, 



282 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



As it floated o'er his shoulders 
In the crisp October air. 

Down the street the baby hastened 
Till he reached the office door. 
**I'se a letter, Mr. Postman ; 
Is there room for any more ? 

** 'Cause dis letter's doin' to papa, 
Papa lives with God, 'ou know. 
Mamma sent me for a letter. 
Does 'ou fink 'at I tan go?"" 

But the clerk in wonder answered, 
'*Not to-day, my little man," 
"Den I'll find anozzer office, 
'Cause I must do if I tan." 

Fain the clerk would have detained him, 
But the pleading face was gone. 

And the little feet were hastening — 
By the busy crowd SAvept on. 

Suddenly the crowd was parted. 
People fled to left and right. 

As a pair of maddened horses 
At the moment dashed in sight. 

No one saw the baby figure — • 
No one saw the golden nair, 

Till a voice of frightened sweetness 
Rang out on the autumn air. 

*Twas too late — a moment only 
Stood the beauteous vision there. 

Then the little face lay lifeless. 
Covered o'er with golden hair. 

Reverently they raised my darling, 
Brushed away the curls of gold, 

Saw the stamp upon the forehea 
Growing now so icy cold. 

Not a mark the face disfigured. 
Showing where a hoof had trod ; 

But the little life was ended — 
*' Papa's letter" was with God. 



BROKEN HEARTS.— IVasAing-ion Irving: 

(Pathetic reading.) 

Robert Emmett, the Irish patriot, was born in 
1780. He was executed on September 20, 1803. His 
oration is given in full in the department of Great 
Orators. See page 256. 

EVERY one must recollect the tragical story 
of young Emmett, the Irish patriot : it 
was too touching to be soon forgotten. 
During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, con- 
demned, and executed, on a charge of treason. 
His fate made a deep impression on public sym- 
pathy. He was so young — so intelligent — so 
generous — so brave — so everything that we are 
apt to like in a young man. His conduct under 
trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid ! The 
noble indignation with which he repelled the 
charge of treason against his country — the elo- 
quei.t vindication of his name — and his pathetic 
appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of con- 
demnation — all these entered deeply into every 
generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented 
the stern policy that dictated his execution. 

But there was one heart, whose anguish it 
would be impossible to describe. In happier 
days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affec- 
tions of a beautiful and interesting girl, the 
daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. 
She loved him with the disinterested fervor of a 
woman's first and early love. When every 
worldly maxim arrayed itself against him ; 
when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and dan- 
ger darkened around his name, she loved him 
the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, 
then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even 
of his foes, what must have been the agony of 
her, whose whole soul was occupied by his 
image ? Let those tell who have had the portals 
of the tomb suddenly closed between them and 
the being they most loved on earth — who have 
sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and 
lonely world, from whence all that was most 
lovely and loving had departed. 

But then the horrors of such a grave ! so 

' frightful, so dishonored ! There was nothing 

for memory to dwell on that could soothe the 

pang of separation — none of those tender though 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



28-' 



melancholy circumstances that endear the parting 
scene — nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed 
tears, sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive 
the heart in the parting hour of anguish. 

To render her widowed situation more deso- 
late, she had incurred her father's displeasure by 
her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile 
from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy 
and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit 
so shocked and driven in by horror, she would 
have experienced no want of consolation, for the 
Irish are a people of quick and generous sensi- 
bilities. The most delicate and cherishing at- 
tentions were paid her by families of wealth and 
distinction. She was led into society, and they 
tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement 
to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the 
tragical story of her love. 

But it was all in vain. There are some strokes 
of calamity that scath and scorch the soul — that 
penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, and 
blast it, never again to put forth bud or blos- 
som. She never objected to frequent the haunts 
of pleasure, but she was as much alone there as 
in the depths of solitude. She walked about in 
a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the 
w^orld around her. She carried with her an 
inward woe that mocked at all the blandishments 
of friendship, and '* heeded not the song, of the 
charmer, charm he never so wisely. ' ' 

The person who told me her story had seen 
her at a masquerade. There can be no exhibi- 
tion of far-gone wretchedness more striking and 
painful than to meet it in such a scene. To find 
it wandering like a specter, lonely and joyless, 
where all around is gay — to see it dressed out in 
the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and 
woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat 
the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of 
sorrow. 

After strolling through the splendid rooms 
and giddy crowd with an air of uttex abstraction, 
,she sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, 
and looking about for some time with a vacant 
air, that showed her insensibility to the garish 
scene, she began, with the capriciousness of a 



sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air. 
She had an exquisite voice ; but on this occasion 
it was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth 
such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a 
crowd mute and silent around her, and melted 
every One into tears. 

The story of one so true and tender could not 
but excite great interest in a country remarkable 
for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of 
a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, 
and thought that one so true to the dead could 
not but prove affectionate to the living. She 
declined his attentions, for her thoughts were 
irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her 
former lover. He, however, persisted in his 
suit. He solicited not her tenderness, but her 
esteem. He was assisted by her conviction of 
his worth, and her sense of her own destitute 
and dependent situation, for she was existing on 
the kindness of friends. In a word, he at 
length succeeded in gaining her hand, though 
with the solemn assurance that her heart was 
unalterably another's. 

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a 
change of scene might wear out the remembrance 
of early woes. She was an amiable and ex- 
emplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy 
one , but nothing could cure the silent and 
devouring melancholy that had entered into her 
very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hope- 
less decline, and at length sunk into the grave, 
the victim of a broken heart. 

LINES RELATING TO CURRAN'S 
DAUGHTER. 

(Robert Emmett's affianced bride.) 

SHE is far from the land where her young 
hero sleeps. 
And lovers around her are sighing ; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild song of her dear native plains. 
Every note which he loved awaking — 

Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains. 
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 



284 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



He had lived for his love — for his country he 
died; 

They were all that to life had entwined him — 
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 

Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 

When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the 
west, 
From her own loved island of sorrow. 

Thomas Moore. 

SHYLOCK'S SOLILOQUY AND 
ADDRESS. 

HOW like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him, for he is a Christian ; 
But more, for that, in low simplicity. 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate. 
On me, my bargains, and my well- won thrift, 
Which he calls interest : cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! — 

Signor Antonio, many a time and oft, 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my moneys, and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call mc — misbeliever, cut- throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
And all for use of that which is mine own. 
Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
** Shy lock, we would have moneys ;" you say so : 
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
And foot mc, as you spur a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit. 
,Vhat would I say to you ? Should I not say, 
* Hath a dog money? is it possible 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ?' ' ov 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key. 
With 'bated brc.-itli. nnd whispering humbleness. 



Say this, — 

'* Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last: 
You spurned me such a day ; another time 
You called me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
I'll lend you thus much moneys." 

Shakespeare. 

SOLILOQUY OF MANFRED. 

THE spirits I have raised abandon me — 
The spells which I have studied baffle 
me — 
The remedy I recked of tortured me : 
I lean no more on superhuman aid ; 
It hath no power upon the past, and for 
The future, till the past be gulfed in darkneb. 
It is not of my search. My mother earth ! 
And thou, fresh -breaking day ; and you, ye- 

mountains. 
Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye. 
And thou, the bright eye of the universe, 
That open' St over all, and unto all 
Art a delight — thou shin'st not on my heart 
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme ed^e 
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath 
Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs 
In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, 
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would */fing 
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 
To rest forever — wherefore do I pause ? 
I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge j. 
I see the peril — yet do not recede ; 
And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm ; 
There is a power upon me which withholds, 
And makes it nly fatality to live — 
If it be life to wear within myself 
This barrenness of spirit, and to be 
My own soul's sepulcher ; for I have ceased 
To justify my deeds unto myself — 
The last infirmity of evil. — Ay, 
Thou wmged and cloud-cleaving minister, 

(^An eagle passes j 
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven. 
Well may' St thou swoop so near me — I should be 
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets ; thou art gone 
Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine 
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



285 



With a pervading vision. — Beautiful ! 

How beautiful is all this visible world ! 

How glorious in its action and itself ! 

But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we. 

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 

To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make 

A conflict of its elements, and breathe 

The breath of degradation and of pride. 

Contending with low wants and lofty will 

Till our mortality predominates, 

And men are — what they name not to themselves. 

And trust not to each other. Byron. 

SOLILOQUY OF ROMEO IN THE 
GARDEN. 

BUT, soft ! what light through yonder win- 
dow breaks ! 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. 
Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. 
Be not her maid, since she is envious : 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green. 
And none but fools do wear it ; cast it off. — 
It is my lady : O, it is. my love : 

that she knew she were ! — 

She speaks, yet she says nothing : wha j of that ? 
Her eye discourses ; I will answer it. — 

1 am too bold ; 'tis not to me she speaks : 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her eyes were there, they in her head ? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame those 

stars, 
As daylight doth a lamp , her eye in heaven 
Would through the airy region stream so bright. 
That birds would sing, and think it were not 

night. 
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
O that I were a glove upon that hand, 
That I might touch that cheek ! 

She speaks : — 
O speak again, bright angel ! for thou art 
\s glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
.is is a winged messenger of heaver 



Unto the white, upturned, .vundering eyes 
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him. 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds. 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Shakespeare. 

HOTSPUR'S SOLILOQUY ON THE 
CONTENTS OF A LETTER. 

(Speaker should address remarks to letter which he 
holds in hand. ) 

' ' T") UT for mine own part, my lord, I could 
IJ be well contented to be there, in re- 
spect of the love I bear your house. ' ' 
— He could be contented to be there ! Why is 
he not then ? — In respect of the love he bears 
our house ! He shows in this, he loves hib own 
barn better than he loves our house. Let me 
see some more. *^The purpose you undertake 
is dangerous." — Why, that's certain: 'tis dan- 
gerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink : but I 
tell you, my lord Fool, out of this nettle danger, 
we pluck the flower safety. ' ' The purpose you 
undertake is dangerous ; the friends you have 
named, uncertain ; the time itself, unsorted ; 
and your whole plot too light for the counter- 
poise of so great an opposition." — Say you so, 
say you so : I say unto you again, you are a 
shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a 
lack-brain is this ! Our plot is a good plot as 
ever was laid ; our friends, true and constant ; a 
good plot, good friends, and full of expectation ; 
an excellent plot, very good friends. What a 
frosty-spirited rogue is this ! Why, my lord of 
York commends the plot, and the general course 
of the action. By this hand, if I were now by 
this rascal I could brain him with his lady's fan. 
Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; 
Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and 
Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the 
Douglas? Have 1 not all their letters, to meet 
me in arms by the ninth of the next month? 
and are there not some of them set forward 
already ? What a pagan rascal is this ! an in- 
fidel ! — Ha ! you shall see now, in very sincerity 
of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, 
and lay open all our proceedings. Oh ! I could 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such 
a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an 
action ! — Hang him ! let him tell the king. 
We are prepared, I will set forward to-night. 

Shakespeare. 

SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. BEFORE 
THE BATTLE OF BOSWORTH. 

1 /T^IS now the dead of night, and half the 
I world 

Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung ; 
Yet I, (so coy a dame is sleep to me,) 
With all the weary courtship of 
My care-tired thoughts, can't win her to my bed. 
Though e'en the stars do wink, as 'twere with 

overwatching. 
r 11 forth and walk a while. The air's refreshing. 
And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay 
Gives it a sweet and wholesome odor. — 
How awful is this gloom ! And hark ! from 

camp to camp 
The hum of either army stilly sounds. 
That the fixed sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each others' watch : 
Steed threatens steed in high and boastful neigh- 

ings, 
Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark ! from the 

tents 
The armorers, accomplishing the knights, 
With clink of hammers closing rivets up. 
Give dreadful note of preparation ; whaic some. 
Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch, 
With patience sit, and inly rumlmte 
The morning's danger. By yon Heaven, my stem 
Impatience chides this tardy-gaited night. 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp 
.So tediou.sly away. I'll to my couch. 
And once more try to sleep her into morning. 

Shakespeare. 

HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 

TO be, or not to be, that is the question ; — 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous for- 
tune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 



And, by opposing, end them? To die, — to 

sleep, — 
No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to : 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep : — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the 

rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When he have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. There's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
tumely, 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay. 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
AVhen he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death,— 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveler returns, — puzzle's the will, 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry. 
And lose the name of action. 

Shakespeare. 

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IM- 
MORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

(Speaker sits in meditative mood with book in hand, 
to which he often looks. ) 

IT must be so — Plato, thou reason 'st well ! — 
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond 
desire. 
This longing after immortality ? 
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'Tis the divinty that stirs within us : 
'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



287 



And Intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 

Through what new scenes and changes must we 

pass ! 
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it, — 
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, 
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud 
Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue. 
And that which he delights in must be happy. 
But when or where ? This world — was made for 

Caesar. 
I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them — 
(^Laying his hand on his sword. ) 
Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death and life. 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements. 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 

Addison. 

:,OLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. 

WAS ever woman in this humor wooed ? 
Was ever woman in this humor won ? 
I'll have her j but I will not keep her 
long. 
What ! I, that killed her husband, and his father, 
To take her in her heart's extremest hate? 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes. 
The bleeding witness of my hatred by ; 
With God, her conscience, and these bars, 

against me, 
And I no friends to back my suit withal. 
But the plain devil and dissembling looks, — 
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing — 

Ha! 
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months 

since, 
Stabbed in my angry mood, at Tewksbury ? 



A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman — 

Framed in the prodigality of nature, 

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right loyal — 

The spacious world can not again afford. 

And will she yet abase her eyes on me, 

That cropped the golden prime of this sweet 

prince. 
And made her widow to a woeful bed? — 
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ? 
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
I do mistake my person all this while. 
Upon my life, she finds, although I can not, 
Myself to be a marvelous proper man. 
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass. 
And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
To study fashions to adorn my body. 
Since I am crept in favor with myself, 
I will maintain it with some little cost. 
But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave > 
And then return lamenting to my love. 
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass 
That I may see my shadow as I pass ! 

Shakespeare. 

LADY MACBETH'S SOLILOQUY. 

GLAMIS thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
What thou art promised. — Yet do I fear 
thy nature j 
It is too full o* the milk of human kindness. 
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be 

great ; 
Art not without ambition ; but without 
The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst 

highly. 
That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false. 
And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou'dst have, 

great Glamis, 
That which cries, * ' Thus thou must do, if thou 

have it ; ^^ 
And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 
Than wishest should be undone." Hie thee 

hither, 
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 
And chastise with the valor of my tongue 
All that impedes me from the golden round. 



288 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
To have thee crowned withal. 

The raven himself is hoarse, 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
That no compunctuous visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring min- 
isters, 
Wherever in your sightless substances 
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick 

night, 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
To cry, ''Hold! hold!" Shakespeare. 

OH I WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD? 

[This poem was a great favorite with Abraham I^incoln. 
A noted artist who painted the President's picture tells us 
that on one occasion Mr. Lincoln repeated the poem in full to 
hijn with great effect, anil commented upon the influence 
which it had exerted over his life.] 

OH ! why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 
Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying 
cloud, 
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade. 
Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 
And the young and the old, and the low and the 

high, 
Shall molder to dust, and together shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved ; 

The mother that infant's affection who proved ; 

The husband that mother and infant who 

blessed, — 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in 

whose eye. 
Shone beauty and pleasure, — her triumphs are by ; 



And the memory of those whc foved her and 

praised 
Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; 
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; 
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap ; 
The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the 

steep ; 
The beggar who wandered in search of his bread. 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven ; 
The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven ; 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just. 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 

So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed 
That withers away to let others succeed ; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold. 
To repeat every tale that has often been told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been ; 
We see the same sights our fathers have seen ; 
We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would 

think ; 
From the death we are shrinking our fathers 

would shrink ; 
To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; 
But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. 

They loved, but the story we cannot unfold ; 
They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is 

cold ; 
They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers 

will come ; 
They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is 

dumb. 

They died, aye ! they died ; and we things that 

are now, 
Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



289 



Who make in their dwelHng a transient abode, 
Meet the things that they met on their pilgrim- 
age road. 

Yea ! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smiles and the tears, the song and the 

dirge, 
Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a 

breath, 
From the blossom of health to the paleness of 

death. 
From the gilded saloon to the bier and the 

shroud, — 
Oh ! why should ^'^q spirit of mortal be proud ? 

William Knox. 

WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 

(Reflective.) 

WHERE are the mighty ones of ages past. 
Who o'er the world their inspirations 
cast, — 
Whose memories stir our spirits like a blast ? — 

Where are the dead ? 
Where are the mighty ones of Greece ? Where be 
The men of Sparta and Thermopylae? 
The conquering Macedonian, where is he ? 
Where are the dead ? 

Where are Rome's founders? Where her chief- 

est son, 
Before whose name the whole known world bowed 

down, — 
Whose conquering arm chased the retreating 

sun? — 

Where are the dead ? 
Where's the bard- warrior-king of Albion's state, 
A pattern for earth's sons to emulate,-- 
The truly, nobly, wisely, goodly great ? — 
Where are the dead ? 

Where is Gaul's hero, who aspired to be 
A second Caesar in his mastery, — 
To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent 
the knee? 

Where are the dead? 
19 



Where is Columbia's son, her darling child. 
Upon whose birth Virtue and Freedom smiled, — . 
The Western Star, bright, pure, and undefiled? — 
Where are the dead ? 

Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired, — 
The bard of Greece, whose muse (of heaven 

acquired) 
With admiration ages past has fired, — 

The classic dead ? 
Where is the poet * who in death was crowned, — 
Whose clay-cold temples laurel chaplets bound. 
Mocking the dust, — in life no honor found, — 
The insulted dead ? 

Greater than all, — ^an earthly sun enshrined, — 
Where is the king of bards ? Where shall we find 
The Swan of Avon, — ^monarch of the mind, — 

The mighty dead ? 
When their frail bodies died, did they all die, 
Like the brute dead, passing for ever by ? 
Then wherefore was their intellect so high, — 

The mighty dead ? 

Why was it not confined to earthly sphere, — - 
To earthly wants ? If it must perish here. 
Why did they languish foi a bliss more dear, 

The blessed dead ? 
All thingf 5ix nature are proportionate : 
Is man alone in an imperfect state, — 
He who doth all things rule and regulate ? 

Then where the dead ? 

If here they perished, in their beings' germ, — 
Here were their thoughts', their hopes', their 

wishes' term, — 
Why should a giant's strength propel a worm ? — 

The dead ! the dead ! 
There are no dead ! The forms, indeed, did die, 
That cased the ethereal beings now on high : 
'Tis but the outward covering is thrown by : — 

This is the dead ! 

The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing. 
Have perished not ; they have but taken wing,— 
Changing an earthly for a heavenly spring : 
There are the dead ! 

* Torquato Tasso. 



:90 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Thus is all nature perfect. Harmony 
Pervades the whole, by His all- wise decree, 
With whom are those, to vast infinity, 

We misname dead. Anon. 

THE QUALITY OF MERCY. 

/"TAHE quality of mercy is not strained ; 
j^ It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice 
blessed : 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown. 
His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein dotli sit the dread and fear of kings : 
But mercy is above his sceptered sway. 
It is enthroned in the /lear/s of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Shakespeare. 

OTHELLO'S FAREWELL 

O ! NOW for ever 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars. 
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump. 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! 
And, O ! ye mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit. 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! 

Shakespeare. 

COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. 

AND this, O Spain ! is thy return 
For the new world I gave ! 
Chains I — this the recompense I earn 1 
The fetters of the slave ! 
Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sp' 
Rises on realms I found for thee 

I served thee as a son would serve j 
I loved thee with a father's love ; 



It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve^ 

To raise thee other lands above, 
That thou, with all thy wealth, might be 
The single empress of the sea. 

For thee my form is bowed and worn 
With midnight watches on the main ; 

For thee my soul hath calmly borne 
Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain ; 

Through, life, whate'er my lot might be, 

I lived, dared, suffered, but for thee. 

My guerdon ! — 'Tis a furrowed brow. 

Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears. 

And blighted hope, and broken vow. 
And poverty for coming years. 

And hate, with malice in her train : — 

What other guerdon ? — View my chain I 

Yet say not that I weep for gold ! 

No, let it be the robber's spoil. — 
Nor yet, that hate and malice bold 

Decry my triumph and my toil. — 
I weep but for Spain's lasting shame ; 
I weep but for her blackened fame. 

No more. — The sunlight leaves the sea ; 

Farewell, thou never-dying king ! 
Earth's clouds and changes change not thee, 

And thou — and thou, — grim, giant thing, 
Cause of my glory and my pain, — 
Farewell, unfathomable main ! 

Miss Jewsbury. 

THE POLISH BOY. 
T" TTHENCE come those shrieks so wild and 
\/\/ shrill, 

That cut, like blades of steel, the air. 
Causing the creeping blood to chill 
With the sharp cadence of despair ? 

Again they come, as if a heart 

Were cleft in twain by one quick blow. 

And every string had voice apart 
To utter its peculiar woe. 

Whence came they ? from yon temple, where 
An altar raised for private prayer, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



291 



Now forms the warrior's marble bed, 
Who Warsaw's gallant armies led? 

The dim funereal tapers throw 
A holy lustre o'er his brow, 
And burnish with their rays of light 
The mass of curls that gather bright 
Above the haughty brow and eye 
Of a young boy that's kneeling by. 

What hand is that, whose icy press 

Clings to the dead with death's own grasp. 
But meets no answering caress? 

No thrilling fingers seek its clasp ; 
It is the hand of her whose cry 

Ran wildly late upon the air. 
When the dead warrior met her eye 

Outstretched upon the altar there. 

With pallid lip and stony brow, 
She murmurs forth her anguish now. 
But hark ! the tramp of heavy feet 
Is heard along the bloody street ! 
Nearer and nearer yet they come. 
With clanking arms and noiseless drum. 
Now whispered curses, low and deep, 
Around the holy temple creep ; — 
The gate is burst ! a ruffian band 
Rush in and savagely demand, 
With brutal voice and oath profane, 
The startled boy for exile's chain ! 

The mother sprang with gesture wild, 

And to her bosom clasped her child ; 

Then, with pale cheek and flashing eye, 

Shouted, with fearful energy, 
*'Back, ruffians, back ! nor dare to tread 

Too near the body of my dead ! 

Nor touch the living boy ; I stand 

Between him and your lawless band ! 

Take me, and bind these arms, these hands. 

With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 

And drag me to Siberia's wild. 

To perish, if 'twill save my child ! " 
*' Peace, woman, peace ! " the leader cried. 

Tearing the pale boy from her side, 

And in his ruffian grasp he bore 
c His victim to the temple door 



**One moment !" shrieked the mother j **one! 
Will land or gold redeem my son ? 
Take heritage, take name, take all. 
But leave him free from Russian thrall ! 
Take these ! ' ' and her white arms and hands, 
She stripped of rings and diamond bands, 
And tore from braids of long black hair 
The gems that gleamed like starlighl there. 
Her cross of blazing rubies, last 
Down at the Russian's feet she cast. 
He stooped to seize the glittering store ; — 
Up springing from the marble floor, 
The mother, with a cry of joy. 
Snatched to her leaping heart the boy .' 
But no ! the Russian's iron grasp 
Again undid the mother's clasp. 
Forward she fell, with one long cry 
Of more than mortal agony. 

But the brave child is roused at length, 

And, breaking from the Russian's hold. 
He stands, a giant in the strength 

Of his young spirit fierce and bold I 
Proudly he towers ; his flashing eye, 

So blue, and yet so bright. 
Seems kindled from the eternal sky, 

So brilliant is its light. 

His curling lips and crimson cheeks 
Foretell the thought before he speaks ; 
With a full voice of proud command 
He turns upon the wondering band : 
"Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can I 
This hour has made the boy a man. 
I knelt beside my slaughtered sire, 
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. 
I wept upon his marble brow — 
Yes, wept ! I was a child ; but now— - 
My noble mother on her knee 
Has done the work of years for me ! " 

He drew aside his broidered vest. 
And there, like slumbering serpent's crest. 
The jeweled haft of poniard bright 
Glittered a moment on the sight. 
**Ha ! start ye back? Fool ! coward ! knave ] 
Think ye my noble father's glaive 



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MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Would drink the life-blood of a slave ? 
The pearls that on the handle flame 
Would blush to rubies in their shame; 
The blade would quiver in my breast, 
Ashamed of such ignoble rest. 
No ! thus I rend the tyrant's chain, 
And fling him back a boy's disdain ! '* 

^ moment, and the funeral light 
Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright ; 
Another, and his young heart's blood 
Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood ! 
Quick to his mother's side he sprang, 
And on the air his clear voice rang : 
''Up, mother, up ! I'm free ! I'm free ! 
The choice was death or slavery ! 
Up, mother, up ! Look on thy son I 
His freedom is forever won ! 
And noNV he waits one holy kiss 
To bear his father home in bliss. 
One last embrace, one blessing — one ! 
To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son ! 
^Vhat ! silent yet? Canst thou not feel 
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal? 
Speak, mother, speak ! lift up thy head ! 
What ! silent still ? Then art thou dead ! 

Great God ! I thank thee ! Mother, I 

Rejoice with thee — and thus — to die ! " 
One long, deep breath, and his pale head 
Lay on his mother's bosom — dead ! 

DER DRUMMER. 

(Dialectic) 

WHO puts oup at der pest hotel, 
Und dakes his oysders on der schell, 
Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell ? 
Der drummer. 

Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore, 
Drows down his pundles on de vloor, 
Und nefer schtops to shut der door ? 
Der drummer. 

Who dakes me py der handt, und say, 
<*Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day?" 
Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay ? 
Der drummer. 



Who shpreads his zamples in a trice, 
Und dells me, " Look, und see how nice?*' 
Und says I gets '' der bottom price?" 
Der drummer. 

Who dells how sheap der goods vas bought. 
Mooch less as vot I gould imbort, 
But lets dem go as he vas * ' short ?' ' 
Der drummer. 

Who says der tings vas eggstra vine, — 
** Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine," — 
Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine? 
Der drummer. 

Who varrants all der goots to suit 
Der gustomers ubon his routCy 
Und ven day gomes dey vas no goot ? 
Der drummer. 

Who gomes aroundt ven I been oudt, 
Drinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut, 
Und kiss Katrina in der mout' ? 
Der drummer. 

Who, ven he gomes again dis vay, 
Vill hear vot Pfeiff"er has to say, 
Und mit a plack eye goes avay ? 
Der drummer. 

Chas. F. Adams. 



I 



YAWCOB STRAUSS. 

(Dialectic recitation. ) 
HAF von funny leedle poy, 
Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; 
Der queerest schap, der createst rogue. 

As efer you did see. 
He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings 

In all barts off" der house : 
But vot off" dot ? he vas mine son, 
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He get der measles und der mumbs, 

Und eferyding dot's oudt; 
He sbills mine glass off lager bier. 

Foots schnuff" into mine kraut. 
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese, — 

Dot was der roughest chouse : 



MISCETJ.ANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



293 



I'd dake dot vrom no oder po 
But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 
Und cuts mine cane in dwo, 

To make der schticks to beat it mit, — 
Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 

I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart, 
He kicks oup sooch a touse : 

But nefer mind ; der poys vas few- 
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 

He asks me questions such as dese : 

Who baints mine nose so red ? 
Who vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt 

Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 
Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 

Vene'er der glim I douse. 
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain 

To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? 

I somedimes dink I schall go vild 

Mit sooch a grazy poy, 
Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, 

Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; 
But ven he was ashleep in bed, 

So guiet as a mouse, 
I prays der Lord, '* Dake anyding, 

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." 

Chas. F. Adams. 

PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEO- 
PATRA'S NEEDLE. 

( Humorous. Irish Dialect. ) 

SO that's Cleopathera's Naadle, bedad, 
An' a quare lookin' naadle it is, I'll be 
bound ; 
What a powerful muscle the queen must have had 
That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it 
around ! 

Imagine her sittin' there stichin' like mad 

With a naadle like that in her hand ! I declare 

It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane,an', 
bedad, 
Jt would pass for a round tpwer^ only its square! 



The taste of her, ordherin* a naadle of granite ! 
Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite 
dumb ! 
And look at the quare sort of figures upon it ; 
I wondher can these be the thracks of her 
thumb ? 

I once was astonished to hear of the faste 
Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 

I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste 
If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow ! 

It's easy to see why bould Caesar should quail 
In her presence an' meekly submit to her 
rule ; 
Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail 
She could frighten the soul out of big Finn Mac- 
Cool ! 

But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now. 
Compared with the monsthers they must have 
been then ! 
Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a 
row, 
Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the 
men. 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would 
start 
If his girl was to prod him with that in the 
shins ! 
I have often seen naadles, but bouldly assart 
That the naadle in front of me there takes the 
pins ! 

O sweet Cleopathera ! I'm sorry you're dead ; 
An' whin lavin' this wonderful naadle behind, 
Had ye thought of bequeathin' a spool of your 
thread 
And yer thimble an' scissors, it would have 
been kind. 



But pace to your ashes, ye plague o' great men, 
Yer strenth is departed, yer glory is past ; 

Ye' 11 never wield sceptre nor naadle again. 
And a -pn*^^ little asp did yer bizness at last. 
CoRMAC O'Leary, 



294 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 




A 



(Permission of 
T last the cottage was rented 

That vacant had stood so long, 
And the silent gloom of its chambers 

Gave way to mirth and song. 
Ever since the sheriff sold it, 

And poor Dobson moved away, 
Not a soul had crossed the threshold 

Till the strangers came in May ; 
Then the mold on the steps of marble 

Was scoured and well rinsed off, 
And the packed dead leaves of autumn 

Were thrown from the dry pump trough ; 
And the windows were washed and polished, 

And the paints and floors were scrubbed. 
While the knobs and hearthstone brasses 

Were cleaned and brightly rubbed. 

Now right across the turnpike 

Lived old Aunt Polly Green, 
And through the window lattice 

The cottage could be seen. 
There wasn't abed or mattress. 

There wasn't a thing untied. 
Not a box, a trunk, or a bundle. 

But what Aunt Polly spied. 
Such high-toned, stylish neighbors 

The village had never known ; 
/Ind the family had no children — 

The folks were all full-grown ; 



the Author.) 

That is, there were two young ladies, 
The husband and his wife, 
" And she," said old Aunt Polly, 
'* Hain't seen a bit of life. ' * 

And so Aunt Polly watched them. 

Oft heard the husband say, 
'* Good-bye, my love," when leaving 

His wife but for the day ; 
And when he came at sunset 

She saw them eager run. 
Striving the wife and daughters 

To be the favored one ; 
And as Aunt Polly, peeping, 

Beheld his warm embrace, 
And noted well the love-light 

That lit the mother's face, 
She shook her head and muttered, 

"Them two hain't long been wei 
A pity for his first wife. 

Who's sleepin* cold and dead." 

** The poor thing died heart-broken. 

Neglected by that brute, 
' ' Who, soon as she was buried. 

Began his new love suit, 
'' I know it," said old Aunt Polly, 

** I see the hull thing through; 
How kin he so forget her, 

Who always loved him true ? " 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



295 



And tears of woman's pity 

Streamed down Aunt Polly's face, 
As in her mind she pictured 

The dead wife's resting-place. 
''To think," sobbed good Aunt Polly, 

'' How the daughters, too, behave. 
When their poor and sainted mother 

Fills a lone, forgotten grave." 

One day when old Aunt Polly 

Sat knitting, almost asleep, 
When the shadows under the woodbine 

Eastward began to creep, 
A rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed maiden 

Walked up to the kitchen door, 
Where never a soul from the cottage 

Had dared to walk before : 
'Tis true that she walked on tip-toe. 

And cautiously peered around ; 
But she smiled and courtesied sweetly 

When the one she sought was found : 
*' I rapped on the front door knocker. 

And wondered where you could be, 
So I hope you will pardon my boldness 

In walking around to see. ' ' 

"Boldness," said Polly, rising. 

And fixing her glasses straight, 
" Boldness ain't nothin' now-' days, 

To some, at any rate. 
Sit down in that cheer and tell me 

Who 'twas that sent you here ; 
And tell me how long ago, Miss, 

You lost your mother dear. ' ' 
The girl stood still, astonished. 

She knew not what to*say. 
She wished herself in the cottage 

That stood across the way. 
**Now don't stand there a sulkin'. 

Have a little Christian shame. 
Even if she is a bold one 

That bears your father's name." 

" Madam, or Miss," said the maiden, 
'' There's surely a great mistake. 
Or else I must be dreaming — ' ' 

''No you hain't, you're wide awake ; 



I blame your bold stepmother 

For learnin' you this deceit ; 
Now answer me true the question 

Which again I must repeat — 
When did you lose your mother. 

And of what did the poor child die. 
And wasn't her pale face pinched like. 

An didn't she often sigh? 
Horrors ! jist look at the heathen, 

A laughin' right in my face. 
When speakin' about her mother. 

In her last lone restin' place." 

" You say you was sent to invite m 

To the cottage over the way. 
That to-night's the celebration 

Of your mother's marriage day. 
That this is the silver weddin'. 

Of that young and frisky thing. 
That for five and twenty summers 

She's wore her plain gold ring? 
Well, looks they are deceivin', 

Why her hair's not one mite gray, 
And her cheek is like a lily 

Gathered for Easter Day. 
An' will I come ? Yes, dearie ; 

But let me your pardon crave. 
For I've been like an old fool weepin', 

A mournin' an empty grave. ' ' 

THIRTY YEARS WITH A SHREW. 

(Humorous.) 

ST. PETER stood guard at the golden gate 
With a solemn mien and an air sedate, 
When up at the top of the golden stair 
A man and a woman, ascending there. 
Applied for admission. They came and stood 
Before St. Peter, so great and good. 
In hope the City of\ Peace to win. 
And asked St. Peter to let them in. , 

The woman was tall and lank and thin, 
With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin ; 
The man was short and thick and stout. 
His stomach was built so it rounded out; 
His face was pleasant, and all the while 
He wore a kindly and genial smile j 



:06 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke, 
And the man kept still while the woman spoke. 

** O, thou who guardest the gate," said she, 
** We come up hither, beseeching thee 
To let us enter the heavenly land, 
And play our harps with the heavenly band. 
Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt. 
There's nothing from Heaven to bar me out; 
I've been to meeting three times a week. 
And almost always I'd rise and speak. 

*' I've told the sinners about the day 
When they'd repent of their evil way; 
I've told my neighbors — I've told them all 
'Bout Adam and Eve and the primal fall. 
I've shown them what they'd have to do 
l{ they'd pass in with the chosen few. 
I've marked their path of duty clear. 
Laid out the plan of their whole career. 

** I've talked and talked to them loud and long. 

For my lungs are good and my voice is strong; 

So good St. Peter, you'll clearly see 

The gate of Heaven is open for me ; 

But my old man, I regret to say, 

Hasn't walked exactly the narrow way. 

He smokes and chews and grave faults he's got. 

And I don't know whether he'll pass or not. 

** He never would pray with an earnest vim. 
Or go to revival or join in a hymn ; 
So I had to leave him in sorrow there 
While I in my purity said my prayer. 
He ate what the pantry chose to afford, 
While I sung at church in sweet accord; 
And if cucumbers were all he got. 
It's a chance if he merited them or not. 

''But O, St. Peter, I love him so, 
To the pleasures of Heaven please let him go 
I've done enough — a saint I've been. 
Won't that atone? Can't you let him in? 
But in my grim gosj)cl I know 'tis so. 
That the unrepentant must fry below; 
I^ut isn't there some way you can see 
That he may enter, who's dear to me? 



" It's a narrow gospel by which I prajr. 

But the chosen expect to find the way 

Of coaxing or fooling or bribing you 

So that their relations can amble through. 

And say, St. Peter, it seems to me 

This gate isn't kept as it ought to be. 

You ought to stand right by the opening there. 

And never sit down in that easy chair. 

*'And say, St. Peter, my sight is dimmed. 

But I don't like the way your whiskers are 

trimmed ; 
They're cut too wide and outward toss ; 
They'd look better narrow, cut straight across. 
Well, we must be going, our crowns to win, 
So open, St. Peter, and we'll pass in." 

St. Peter sat quiet, he stroked his staff. 
But spite of his office he had to laugh ; 
Then he said, with a fiery gleam in his eye, 
''Who's tending this gate, you or I ?" 
And then he rose in his stature tall, 
And pressed the button upon the wall. 
And said to the imp who answered the bell, 
' ' Escort this lady around to — Hades. ' ' 

The man stood still as a piece of stone — 
Stood sadly, gloomily there alone ; 
A lifelong settled idea he had. 
That his wife was good and he was bad ; 
He thought if the woman went down below. 
That he would certainly have to go ; 
That if she went to the regions dim, 
There wasn't a ghost of a chance for him. 

Slowly he turned, by habit bent. 
To follow wherever the woman went. 
St. Peter standing on duty there 
Observed that the top of his head was bare. 
He called the gentleman back and said, 
" Friend, how long have you been wed ?" 
" Thirty years " (with a weary sigh) 
And then he thoughtfully added, " Why?" 

St. Peter was silent. With eye cast down. 
He raised his head and scratched his crown ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



29: 



Then seeming a different thought to take, 

Slowly, half to himself, he spake : 

*' Thirty years with that woman there ? 

No wonder the man hasn't any hair ; 

Chewing is nasty ; smoke's not good ; 

He smoked and chewed ; I should think he would. 

'^ Thirty years with a tongue so sharp? 
Ho ! Angel Gabriel, give him a harp ; 
A jeweled harp with a golden string ; 
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing ; 
Gabriel, give him a seat alone — 
One with a cushion — up near the throne ; 
Call up some angels to play their best ; 
Let him enjoy the music and rest ! 

See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds ; 
He's had about all the Hades he needs. 
It isn't just hardly the thing to do. 
To roast him on earth and the future, too. ' ' 

:ic * * * * 

They gave him a harp with golden strings, 
A glittering robe and a pair of wings ; 
And he said as he entered the realms of day, 
'* Well, this beats cucumbers any way." 
And so the Scriptures had come to pass, 
T^at <'The last shall be first, and the first shall 
be last." 

UNCLE PETE. 

Characters : 
Gi!.o»vv;jL Peyton, a planter. 
. Uncle Pete, a venerable darkey, looking the 
worse for wear, with more patches than 
pantaloons. 
Scene. — Exterior view of a planter's cabin 
with practicable door. George Peyton 
discovered, seated on a bench, under veranda, 
reading a newspaper. 
Enter Uncle Pete, L.,^ a limp noticeable in 
his left leg, the knee of which is bowed out- 
ward, hoe on his shoulder. 
Uncle Pete. {-Pausing as he enters, shading 
his eyes with his hand, and gazing towards George 
Peyton. ) Yes, dar he is ; dar is Marse George, 

* R. signifies right; L., left, and C, cew/r^ of stage. 



a-sittin' on the poarch, a-readin' his papah. 
Golly, I cotch um at home ! {Advancing and 
calling') Marse George, Marse George, I's come 
to see you once mo', once mo', befo' I leabes 
you fo'ebber. Marse George, I's gwine to de 
odder shoah ; I's far on de way to my long 
home, to dat home ober acrost de ribber, whar 
de wicked hab no mo' trouble, and where water- 
millions ripen all the year ! Youns has all bin 
berry kine to me heah, Marse George, berry 
kine to de ole man, but I's gwine away, acrost 
de dark ribber. I's gwine ober, an' dar, on 
dat odder shoah, I'll stan' an' pick on de golden 
hawp among de angels, an' in de company of de 
blest. Dar I'll fine my rest ; dar I'll stan' befo' 
de throne fo'ebber mo' a-singin' an' a-shoutin' 
susannis to de Lord ! 

George Peyton. Oh, no, Uncle Pete, you're 
all right yet — you're good for another twenty 
years. 

Uncle P. Berry kine b' you to say dat, Marse 
George — berry kine — but it's no use. It almos* 
breaks my hawt to leab you, an' to leab de 
missus an' de chillun, Marse George, but I's got 
my call — I's all gone inside. 

George P. Don't talk so, Uncle Pete; you 
are still quite a hale old man. 

Uncle P. No use talkin', Marse George, I'^5 
gwine to hebben berry soon. 'Pears like I can 
heah the singin' on de odder shoah. ' Pears like 
I can heahde voice of ob ''Aunt 'Liza " an' de 
odders dat's gone befoah. You'se bin berry 
kine, Marse George — de missus an' de chillun's 
bin berry good — seems like all de people's bin 
berry good to poor ole Pete — poor cretur like 
me. 

George P. Nonsense, Uncle Pete {kindly and 
encouragingly) , nonsQn?>Q, you are good for many 
years yet. You'll ^\^e the sod placed on the 
graves of many younger men than you are, 
before they dig the hole for you. What you 
want just now. Uncle Pete, is a good square 
meal. Go into the kitchen and help yourself — 
fill up inside. There is no one at home, but I 
think you know the road. Plenty of cold vic- 
tuals of all kinds in there, 



298 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Uncle P. [^A synile illutninating his face.) 
'Bleedged t*ye, Marse George, 'bleeged t'ye, 
sah, I'll go ! For de little time I has got to 
stay, I'll not go agin natur'; but it's no use. 
I's all gone inside — I's got my call. I'm oneo' 
dem dat's on de way to de golden shoah. 

{Exif Uncle Pete through door, his limp 
hardly noticeable. His manner showing his de- 
light.) 

George P. Poor old Uncle Pete, he seems to 
be the victim of religious enthusiasm. I sup- 
pose he has been to camp-meeting, but he is a 
cunning old fox, and it must have taken a 
regular hard-shell sermon to convert the old 
sinner. He was raised on this plantation, and 
I have often heard my father say, he hadn't a 
better negro on the place. Ever since the war, 
he has been working a little, and loafing a good 
deal, and I have no doubt he sometimes sighs to 
be a slave again at work on the old plantation. 
(^Starts and listens. ) 

Uncle P. (Singing inside .•) 

Jay bird, jay bird, sittin' on a limb, 
He winked at me, an' I at him ; 
Cocked my gun, an' split his shin. 
An' left the arrow a-stickin'. 

George P. (Starting up. ) Zounds ! if that 
old thief hasn't found my bitters bottle ! Pete ! 
Pete, you rascal ! 

Uncle P. ( Continues singing:) 

Snake bake a hoe cake, 
An' set the frog to mind it ; 
But the frog fell asleep. 
An' the lizard come an' find it. 

George P. Pete ! you rascal, come out of 
that, 

Uncle P. ( Who does not hear the planter , 
continues singing, and dances a gentle^ old- 
fashioned shuffle. ) 

De debbil cotch the groun' hog 
A-sittin' in desun, 
An' kick him ofFde back -log, 
T-is' to see de fun. 

George P. (Furious.) Pete; you infernal 
nigger, come out of that, I say. 



Uncle P. (Still singing a?id dancing .*) 

De 'possum up de gum tree, 

A-playin' wid his toes, 
An' up comes de ginny pig. 

Den oflf he goes. 

George P. (Thoroughly aroused, throwing 
down his paper. ) You, Pete ; blast the nigger. 
Uncle P. ( Continues singing:) 

De weasel went to see de polecat's wife, 
You nebber smelt such a row in all yer — 

Geo7ge P. (Rushes in the cabin, interrupts 
the singing, and drags Pete out by the ear.) 
Pete ! Pete, you infernal old rascal, is that the 
way you are crossing the river ? Are those the 
songs they sing on the golden shore ? Is this 
the way for a man to act when he has got his 
call — when he is all gone inside ? 

Uncle P. (Looking as if he had been caught in 
a hen-roost.) Marse George. I's got de call, 
sah, an' I's gwine acrost de dark ribber soon, 
but I's now braced up a little on de inside, an* 
de 'scursion am postponed — you see, de 'scur- 
sion am postponed, sah ! 

George P. (Folding his arms, looking at 
Pete, as if in admiration of his impudence.) 
The excursion is postponed, is it ? Well, this 
excursion is not postponed, you old scoundrel. 
(Seizes Pete by the coat-collar and ru?is hi?n off 
stage, L.) [curtain.] 

PAT'S EXCUSE. 

Characters : i ^^^^' ^ young Irish lass. 

{ Pat Murphy, a gay deceiver. 

Curtain rises. — Discovo's Nora in kitchen, 
peeling potatoes. 

Nora. Och ! it's deceivin' that all men are ! 
Now I belaved Pat niver would forsake me, and 
here he's trated me like an ould glove, and IT 
niver forgive him. How praties make your eyes 
water. ( Wipes tears aivay. ) Almost as bad as 
onions. Not that I'm cryin'; oh, no. Pat 
Murphy cant see me cry. (Knock 7uithout.) 
There is Pat now, the rascal. I'll lock the door. 
(Hastens to lock door. ) 

Pat (without). Arrah, Nora, and here I am, 






MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



299 



Nora. And there ye'll stay, ye spalpeen. 

Pat {without^. Ah, come now, Nora, — ain't 
it opening the door you are after? Sure, I'm 
dyin' of cold. 

Nora. Faith, you are too hard a sinner to die 
aisy — so you can take your time about it. 

Pat. Open the door, cushla ; the police will 
be takin' me up. 

Nora. He won't kape you long, alanna ! 

Pat. Nora, if you let me in, I'll tell you how 
I came to lave you at the fair last night. 

Nora {relenting). Will you, for true? 

Pat. Indade I will. 

{Nora unlocks door. Enter Pat gayly. He 
snatches a kiss from her. ) 

Nora. Be off wid ye ! Now tell me how you 
happened to be wid Mary O'Dwight last night? 

Pat {sitting down). Well, you see it happened 
this way ; ye know Mike O' Dwight is her brother, 
and he and me is blatherin' good friends, ye 
know ; and as we was going to Caltry the ither 
day, Mike says tome, says he: ^^Pat, what' 11 
you take fur that dog?" and I says, says I — 

Nora {who has been listening earnestly). 
Bother you, Pat, but you are foolin' me again. 

Pat {coaxingly takes her hand). No — no — 
Nora — I'll tell ye the truth this time, surie. Well, 
as I was sayin', Mike and me is good friends; 
and Mike says, says he: *'Pat, that's a good 
dog." ** Yis," says I, ''it is." And he says, 
says he. *'Pat, it is a blatherin' good dog." 
' ' Yis, ' ' says I ; and then — and then — {Scratches 
his head as if to aid his imagination. ) 

Nora {angrily snatchiiig away hand). There ! 
I'll not listen to another word ! 

She sings. (Tune— RoryO' Moore.) 
Oh, Patrick Murphy, be ojSF wid you, pray, 
I been watching your pranks this many a day ; 
You're false, and ye' re fickle, as sure as I live 
And your hateful desaivin' I'll niver forgive. 
Ouch ! do you think I was blind yester night, 
When you walked so fine with Mary O'Dwight? 
You kissed her, you rascal, and called her your own, 
And left me to walk down the dark lane alone. 

Pat {taking up song). 

Oh, Nora, me darlint, be ofif wid your airs, 
For nobody wants you, and nobody cares ! 



For you do want your Patrick, for don't you see, 

You could not so well love any but me. 

When mylipsmet* Miss Mary's, nowjustlookatme, 

I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see ? 

And when the kiss came, what did I do ? — 

I shut my eyes tight, and made believe it ^2&you ! 

Nora. 

Be off wid your nonsense — a word in your ear, 
Ivisten, my Patrick, be sure that you hear ; 
Last night when Mike Duffy came here to woo. 
We sat in the dark, and made believe it was you — 
And when the kiss came, now just look at me, — 
I shut my eyes tight, just this way, don't you see ? 
And when our lips met, what did I do, 
But keep my eyes shut, and make belave it was you I 
{Nora, laughing; Pat, disconcerted.) 
[quick curtain.] 

THE DUEL. 

Enter Sir Lucius O' Trigger to left, with pistols 
followed by Acres. 

Acres. (Z.f ) By my valor, then, Sir Lucius, 
forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and 
aims ! — I say it is a good distance. 

Sir Lucius. {P.) Is it for muskets or small 
field-pieces? Upon my conscience Mr. Acres, 
you must leave those things to me.-=— Stay, now — 
I'llshowyou. ( Measures paces along the floor. ) 
There, now, that is a very pretty distance — a 
pretty gentleman's distance. 

Acr. {R. ) Zounds ! we might as well fight 
in a sentry-box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the 
further he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. 

Sir L. {L. ) Faith ! then I suppose you would 
aim at him best of all if he was out of sight ! 

Acr. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think 
forty or eight-and-thirty yards — ■ 

Sir L. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! Three or 
four feet between th^ mouths of your pistols is 
as good as a mile. 

Acr. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! there 
is no merit in killing him so near ! Do, my 
dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long 
shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me ! 

* From the asterisk they sing- only the first strain of" Rory 
G'More " — omitting the minor strain, with which Nora finishes 
her first stanza. 

fZ-, signifies left ; R., right, and C, centre of stage. 



300 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Sir L. Well, the gentlemen's friend and I 
must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, 
in case of an accident, is there any little will or 
commission I could execute for you ? 

Act. I am much obliged to you. Sir Lucius — 
but I don't understand — 

Sir L. Why, you may think there's no being 

shot at without a little risk ; and if an unlucky 

ullet should carry a quietus with it — I say it 

> ill be no time then to be bothering you about 

family matters. 

Acr. A quietus ! 

Sir Z. For instance, now — if that should be 
the case^ — would you choose to be pickled and 
sent home? — or would it be the same to you to 
lie here in the Abbey? — I'm told there is 
very snug lying in the Abbey. 

Acr. Pickled !— Snugly in the Abbey ! — Odds 
tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 

Sir L. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were 
engaged in an affair of this kind before. 

Acr. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 

Sir L. Ah! that's a pity !— there's nothing 
like being used to a thing. Pray, now, how 
would you receive the gentlemen's shot? 

Acr. Odds files ! — I've practiced that — there. 
Sir Lucius — there. {^Piits himself in an aiti- 
.iiiie.) A side front, hey? I'll make myself 
small enough : I'll stand edgeways. 

Sir L. Now — you're quite out — for if you 
stand so when I take my aim — {Leveling at 
him. ) 

Acr. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure, it is 
not cocked ? 

Sir L. Never fear. 

Acr. But — but -you aon't know — it may go 
olT of its own head ! 

Sir L. Pooh ! be easy. Well, now, if I hit 
you in the body, my bullet has a double chance ; 
for, if it misses a vital part of your right side, 
'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on *he 
left. 

Acr. A vital part! 

Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so — {placing 
him) — let liim see the broadside of your full 
front ; there, now, a ball or two may pass clean 



through your body, and never do any harm at 
all. 

Acr. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean 
through me ! 

Sir L. Ay, may they ; and it is much the 
genteelest attitude into the bargain. 

Acr. Look'ee, Sir Lucius ! I'd just as lieve 
be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one ; 
so, by my valor ! I will stand edgeways. 

Sir L. (^Looking at his watch.') Sure, they don't 
mean to disappoint us. Ha ! no, faith ; I think 
I see them coming. ( Crosses to R. ) 
Acr. (Z.) Hey! — what! — coming! — 
Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting 
over the stile ? 

Acr. There are two of them, indeed ! Well 
— let them come — hey, Sir Lucius ! we — we — 
we — we — won't run ! 
Sir L. Run! 

Acr. No, — I say, — we won't run, by my 
valor ! 

Sir L. What's the matter with you? 
Acr. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — 
my dear Sir Lucius ! but I — I don't feel quite 
so bold, somehow, as I did. 

Sir L. O, fy ! Consider your honor. 
Acr, Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, 
edge in a word or two every now and then about 
my honor. 

Sir L. Well, here they're coming. (^Look- 
ing R. ) 

Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should 
almost think I was afraid ! If my valor should 
leave me ! — Valor will come and go. 

Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you 
have it. 

Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going ! — yes — 
my valor is certainly going ! — it is sneaking off 
I feel it oozing out, as it were, at the palms o 
my hands ! 

Sir L. Your honor ! your honor ! Here they 
are. 

Acr. O mercy I — now — that I was safe 2 
Clod Hall ! or could br" shot before I was aware 
(Sir Lucius fakes Acres by the arm, and lea.h 
him reluctlantly off, R. ) Sheripan 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



301 



READING THE WILL. 

Characters : 
Swipes, a brewer. Currie, a saddler. 
Frank Millington, and 'Squire Drawl. 

Enter '^^\YY.% i?.,* Currie, Z., 

Swipes. A sober occasion this, brother Currie ! 
Who would have thought the old lady was so 
near her end ? 

Currie. Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes. 
Those who live longest outlive the most. 

Swipes. True, true; but, since we must die 
and leave our earthly possessions, it is well that 
the law takes such good care of us. Had the old 
lady her senses when she departed ? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. 'Squire Drawl told 
me she read every word of her last will and test- 
ament aloud, and never signed her name better. 

Swipes. Had you any hint from the 'Squire 
what disposition she made of her property? 

Cur. Not a whisper! the 'Squire is as close 
as a miser's purse. But one of the witnesses 
hinted to me that she has cut off ner graceless 
nephew with a shilling. 

Swipes. Has she ? Good soul ! Has she ? 
You know I come in, then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my own right ; and this is, no 
doubt, the reason why we have been called to 
hear the reading of the will. 'Squire Drawl 
knows how things should be done, though he is 
as air-tight as one of your own beer-barrels, 
brother Swipes. But here comes the young rep- 
robate. He must be present, as a matter of 
course, you know. (^Enter Frank Millington, 
R. ) Your servant, young gentleman. So, your 
benefactress has left you, at last ! 

Swipes. It is a painfull thing to part with old 
and good friends, Mr. Millington. 

Frank. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss 
better, had I not so often been ungrateful for her 
kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew 
not her value. 

Cur. It is too late to repent. Master Milling- 
ton. You will now have a chance to earn your 
own bread. 

*R. signifies right; £., lefU and C , centra of stage. 



Swipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, 
as better people are obliged to. You would 
make a fine brewer's boy, if you were not too 
old. 

Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with 
a tight rein. 

Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that 
my aunt has treated me as I deserved. I am 
above your insults, and only hope you will 
bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine 
submissively. I shall retire. (^As he is going,^ 
R., enter 'Squire Drawl, R.") 

^Squire. Stop, stop, young man ! We must 
have your presence. Good-morning, gentle- 
men : you are early on the ground. 

Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day. 

^Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected 
your lungs. 

^Squire. No, I believe not. You know I 
never hurry. Slow and sure is my maxim. 
Well, since the heirs-at-law are all convened, I 
shall proceed to open the last will and testament 
of your deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes. ( While the ' Squire is breaking the 
seal.') It is a trying scene to leave all one's 
possessions, 'Squire, in this manner ! 

Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy 
when I look round and see everything but the 
venerable owner of these goods. Well did the 
preacher say. All is vanity ! 

'Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen. 
(^All sit. — The 'Squire puts on his spectacles, 
and reads slowly.) '^Imprimis: Whereas my 
nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience 
and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself un- 
worthy of my bounty, and incapable of manag- 
ing my large estate, ]/ do hereby give anc^ be- 
queath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, 
moneys and property, both personal and real, to 
my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt street, 
brewer, and Christopher Currie, o^ Fly Court, 
saddler." ('Squire takes off his spectacles to 
wipe them. ) 

Swipes. (^Dreadfully overcome.) Generous 
creature ! kind soul ! I always loved her. 



302 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Cur. She 2vas good, she was kind ! She was 
in her right mind. Brother Swipes, when we 
divide, I think I will take the mansion-house. 

Swipes. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Cur- 
rie ! My wife has long had her eye upon that, 
and must have it. {Both rise.) 

Cur. There will be two words to that bar- 
gain, Mr. Swipes ! And, besides, I ought to 
have the first choice. Did nof I lend her a new 
chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who 
knows what influence . 

Swipes. Am I not named first in her will? 
And did I not furnish her with my best small 
beer for more than six months? And who 
knows . 

Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. 

( Going. ) 

'Squire. ( IViping his spectacles^ a7id putting 
them on. ) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I 
have not done yet, {All sit. ) Let me see ; 
where was I? — Ay, — *'A11 my property, both 
personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel 
Swipes, of Malt street, brewer " 

Swipes. Yes ! 

'Squire. *'And Christooher Currie, Fly Court, 
saddler " 

Cur. Yes! 

'Squire. '* To hdve and to hold in trust, for 
the sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, 
Francis Millington, until he shall have attained 
the age of twenty-one years ; by which time I 
hope he will have so far reformed his evil habits, 
as that he may safely be intrusted with the large 
fortune which I hereby bequeath to him." 

Swipes. What's all this? You don't mean 
that we are humbugged? In trust ! — how does 
that appear? Where is it ? 

'Squire. {Pointing to the parch?ncnt.) There! 
In two words of as good old English as I ever 
penned. 

Cur. Pretty well, too, Mr. 'Squire, if we 
must be sent for to be made a laughing-stock of ! 
She shall pay for every ride she had out of my 
chaise, I promise you ! 

S7oipes. And for every drop of my beer. 
Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens 



are to be brought here to be made the sport of a 
graceless profligate ! But we will manage his 
property for him, Mr. Currie ! We will make 
him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with ! 

Cur. That will we ! 

'Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen ; for the 
instrument is dated three years ago, and the 
young gentleman must already be of age, and 
able to take care of himself. Is it not so, 
Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

'Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to 
the breaking of this seal according to law, you 
are released from any further trouble in the 
premises. 

{Exit Swipes and Currie in earnest conversa- 
tion. ) Sargent. 

THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. 

Enter Remnant, ^.* 
Renmant. Well, I am resolved I'll collect my 
bill of Col. Blarney this time. He shan't put 
me off again. This is the twentieth time, as 
I'm a sinner, that I have dunned him ! His 
smooth words shan't humbug me now. No, 
no ! Richard Remnant is not such a goose as 
to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. ( Takes 
out a long bill and unrolls it. ) A pretty col- 
lection of items, that ! Why, the interest alone 
would make a good round sum. But hark ! 
He is coming. {Has til" "-oils up the bill and 
returns it to his pocket. ) 

Enter Col. 13larney, R. 

Blarney. Ah ! my dear Remnant, a thousand 
welcomes ! How delighted I am to see you I 
And what stupidity on the part of my people not 
to make you enter at once ! True, I had given 
orders that they should admit nobody ; but those 
orders did not extend to you, my dear sir, for 
to you I am always at home. 

Rem. Much obliged, sir. {Fu?nbling in his 
pocket for his bill. ) 

Blar. {calling to his servants.) What, ho! 



♦The initials R. and L. stand for the Righi and Le/l of the 
stage, facing the audience. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



303 



John ! Martha ! confound you ! I will teach 
you to keep my friend Remnant kicking his 
heels in the entry ! I will teach you to dis- 
tinguish among my visitors ! 

Rejn. Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. 

Blar. But it is consequence ! To tell you — 
you, one of my best friends — that I was not in ! 

Rem. I am your humble servant, sir. {^Draw- 
ing forth din.) I just dropped in to hand you 
this little — 

Biar. Quick, there, quick ! A chr^'r for my 
friend Remnant ! 

Re7n. I am very well as I am, sin 

Biar. Not at all ! I would have you seated. 

Rem. It is not necessary. (^Servant hands a 
common chair.') 

Blar. Rascal ! — not that ! An arm-chair ! 

Rem. You are taking too much trouble. (^An 
arm-chair is placed for him. ) 

Blar. No, no ; you have been walking some 
distance, and require rest. Now be seated. 

Rem. There is no need of it — I have but a 
single word to say. I have brought — 

Blar. Be seated, I say. I will not listen to 
you till you are seated. 

Rem. Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (^Sifs. ) 
I was about to say — 

Blar. Upon my word, friend Remnant, ydU 
are looking remarkably well. 

Rem. Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty 
well. I have come with this — • 

Blar. You have -an admirable stock of health 
— lips fresh, skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright 
— really— 

Rem. If you would be good enough to — 

Blar. And how is Madam Remnant ? 

Rem. Quite well, sir, I am happy to say., 

Blar. A charming woman, Mr. Remnant ! A 
very superior woman. 

Rem. She will be much obliged, sir. As I 
was saying — 

Blar. And your daughter, Claudine, how is 
she? 

Rem. As well as can be. 

Blar. The beautiful little thing '■'^"t she is ! 
T am quite in love with her. 



Rem. You do us too much honor, sir. I — 
you — 

Blar. And little Harry — does he make as 
much noise as ever, beating that drum of his ? 

Rem. Ah, yes ! He goes on the same as ever. 
But, as I was saying — 

Blar. And your little dog. Brisk, — does he 
bark as loud as ever, and snap at the legs of 
your visitors ? 

Rem. More than ever, sir, and we don't know 
how to cure him. He, he ! But I dropped in 
to — 

Blar. Do not be surprised if I want par- 
ticular news of all your family, for I take the 
deepest interest in all of you. 

Rem. We are much obliged to your honor, 
much obliged. I — 

Blar. ( Giving his hand. ) Your hand upon it, 
Mr. Remnant. Don't rise. Now, tell me, do 
you stand well with the people of quality? — 
for I can make interest for you among them. 

Rem. Sir, I am your humble servant. 

Blar. And I am yours, with all my heart. 
(^Shaking hands again. ) 

Rem. You do me too much honor. 

Blar. There is nothing I would not do for you. 

Rem. Sir, you are too kind to me. 

Blar. At least I am disinterested ; be sure of 
that, Mr Remnant. 

Rem. Certainly I have not merited these 
fayors, sir. But, sir, — 

Blar. Now I think of it, will you stay and sup 
with me ? — without ceremony, of course. 

Rem. No, sir, I must return to my shop ; I 
should have been there before this. I — 

Blar. What ho, there ! A light for Mr. Rem- 
nant ! and tell the coachman to bring the coach 
and drive him home. 

Rem. Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can 
walk well enough. But here — ( Offering bill. ) 

Blar. O ! I shall not listen to it. Walk ? 
Such a night as this ! I am your friend. Rem- 
nant, and, what is more, your debtor — your 
debtor, I say — all the world may know it. 

Rem. Ah ! sir if you could but find it conve- 
nient — 



304 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Blar. Hark ! There is the coach. One more 
embrace, my dear Remnant! {Shakes hands 
a^^ain.) Take care of the steps. Command 
me always ; and be sure there is nothing in 
the world I would not do for you. There ! 
Good-by. 

{Exit Remnant, conducted by Col. B.) 
Altered from Moliere. 

THE DISAGREEABLE MEDDLER. 

Enter Doubledot and Slmon, L:^ 
Doubledot. Plague take Mr. Paul Pry ! He is 
one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having 
no employment themselves, are perpetually in- 
terfering in other people's affairs. 

Simon. Ay, and he's inquisitive into all mat- 
ters, great and small. 

Doub. Inquisitive ! Why, he makes no scruple 
of questioning you respecting your most private 
concerns. Then he will weary you to death 
with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or 
the loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle 
matter. And so he passes his days, ' ' dropping 
in," as he calls it, from house to house at the 
most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of 
every family in the village. But I'll soon get 
rid of him. 

Enter Pry, Z., with umbrella , which he places 
against the wall. 

Pry. Ha ! how d'ye do, Mr. Doubledot? 

Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely 
time to say, '' Pretty well, thank ye." {Turns 
from him as if writing in memorandum book. 
Simon advances. ) 

Pry. Ha, Simon! you here? Rather early 
in the morning to be in a public house. Been 
taking a horn, eh ? Sent here with a message 
from your master, perhaps? I say, Simon, 
when this wedding takes place, I suppose your 
master will put you all into new liveries, eh ? 

Simon. Can't say, sir. 

Pry. Well, I think he might. {Touches 
Simon's sleeve.^ Between ourselves, Simon, 
it won't be before you want 'em, eh ? 



• L. si^ifies left; R., right, and C, centre ol stage. 



Simon. That's master's busiress, sir, a-Tid i 
neither yours nor mine. 

Pry. Mr. Simon, behave yourself^, or I shaii ; 
complain of you to the colonel. By the way.. '■ 
Simon, that's an uncommon fine leg of mutton 
the butcher has sent to your house. It weigh« : 
thirteen pounds five ounces. 

Doub. And how do you know that? j 

Pry. I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, i* i 
it for roasting or boiling ? ' 

Simon. Half and half, witJi the chill taiceo \ 
off. There's your answer. (^;c// Simon, i?.) ! 

Pry. That's an uncommon ill-behaved ser- - 
vant ! Well, since you say you are busy, I 
won't interrupt you ; only, as I was passing, I i 
thought I might as well drop in. , 

Doub. Then you may now drop out again. \ 
The railway 'bus will be in presently, and — I 

Pry. No passengers by it to-day, for I have I 
been to the hill to look for it. 

Doub. Did you expect any one by it, that • 
you were so anxious ? j 

Pry. No ; but I make it my business to see 
the coach come in every day. I can't bear to 
be idle. 

Doub. Useful occupation, truly ! 

Pry. Always see it go out ; have done so 
these ten years. 

Doub. { Going up. ) Tiresome blockhead ! 
Well ; good morning to you. 

Pry. Good-morning, Mr. Doubledot. Your 
tavern doesn't appear to be very full just now. 

Doub. No, no. 

Pry. Ha ! you are at a heavy rent ? {Pauses 
for an answer after each question.) I've often 
thought of that. No supporting such an estab- 
lishment without a deal of custom. If it's not 
an impertinent question, don't you find it rather 
a hard matter to make both ends meet when 
the first of the month comes round ? 

Doub. If it isn't asking an impertinent ques- 
tion, what's that to you? 

Pry. O, nothing; only some folks have the 
luck of it : they have just taken in a nobleman's 
family at the opposition house, the Green 
Dragon. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



305 



Doub. What*s that? A nobleman at the 
Green Dragon ! 

Pry. Traveling carriage and four. Three 
servants on the dickey and an outrider, all in 
blue liveries. They din^ and stop all night. 
A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the 
servants are not on board wages. 

Doub. Plague take the Green Dragon ! How 
did you discover that they are not on board 
wages ? 

Pry. I was curious to know, and asked one 
of them. You know I never miss any thing for 
want of asking. 'Tis no fault of mine that the 
nabob is not here, at your house. 

Doub. Why, what had you to do with it ? 

Pry. You know I never forget my friends. 
I stopped the carriage as it was, coming down 
the hill — ^brought it to a dead stop, and said 
that if his lordship — I took him for a lord at 
once — that if his lordship intended to make any 
stay, he couldn't do better than to go to 
Doubledot's. 

Doub. Well? 

Pry. Well, — would you believe it?— out pops 
a saffron-colored face from the carriage window, 
and says, ** You're an impudent rascal for stop- 
ping my carriage, and I'll fiot go to Doubledot's 
if there's another inn to be found within ten 
miles of it!" 

Doub. There, that comes of your confounded 
meddling ! If you had not interfered I should 
have stood an equal chance with the Green 
Dragon. 

Pry. I'm very sorry ; but I did it for the best. 

Doub. Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce 
take you ! By your officious attempts to serve, 
you do more mischief in the neighborhood than 
the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, 
all together. 

Pry. Well, there's gratitude ! Now, really, 
I must go. Good -morning. (^Exit Paul Pry. ) 

Doub: I'm rid of him at last, thank fortune ! 
(Pry re-enters.^ Well, what now? 

Pry. I've dropped one of my gloves, Now, 
that's very odd — here it is in my hand all the 
time! 



Doub. Go to confusion ! (^Exit.^ 

Pry. Come, that's civil ! If I were the least 
of a bore, now, it would be pardonable — But — 
Hullo ! There's the postman ! I wonder 
whether the Parkins 's have got letters again to- 
day. They hav^ had letters every day this 
week, and I can't for the life of me think what 
they can — {Feels hastily in his pockets.') By 
the way, talking of letters, here's one I took 
from the postman last week for the colonel's 
daughter. Miss Eliza, and I have always forgot- 
ten to give it to her. I dare say it is not of 
much importance. {Peeps into it — reads.) 
* * Likely — unexpected — affectionate. ' ' I can' t 
make it out. No matter; I'll contrive to take it 
to the house — though I've a deal to do to-day. 
{Runs off and returns .) Dear me ! I had like 
to have gone without my umbrella. 

[curtain.] John Poole. 

SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. 

Enter Spartacus, L. ,* Jovius, R. 
Spartacus. Spijak, Roman ! wherefore does 
thy master send 
Thy gray hairs to the *' cut throat's " camp? 
Jovius. Brave rebel — 

Spart. Why, that's a better name than rogue 
or bondman ; 
But in this camp I am called General. 
Jov. Brave General, — for, though a rogue and 
bondman, 
As you have said, I'll still allow you General, 
As he that beats a consul surely is. 

Spart. Say two — two consuls ; and to that 
e'en add 
A proconsul, three praetors, and some generals. 
Jov. Why, this is no more than true. Are 

you a Thracian? 
Spart. Ay. 

Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace 
Breeds valor up as rank as grass. 'Tis pit' 
You are a barbarian. 
Spart. Wherefore? 
Jov. Had you been born 
A Roman, you had won by this a triumj._. 

* L. signifies left ; R.^ rights and C, centre of stage. 



30(i 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; 
For I can better teach the grace-begot 
And heaven-supported masters of the earth 
How a mere dweller of a desert rock 
Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot- 
wheels, 
Their regal necks to be his stepping-blocks. 
But come, what is thy message ? 

Jov. Julia, niece 
Of the prretor, is thy captive. 
Spart. Ay. 
Jov. For whom 
Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senon**, 
And thy young boy. 

Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, 
The Thracian's wife is ransomed. 
Jov. How is that ? 

Spart. Ransomed, and by the steel, from out 
the camp 
Of slaughtered Gellius ! {^Pointing off. ) Be- 
hold them, Roman ! 
Jov. (^Lookifig as Spart. points.^ This is 
sorcery ! 
But name a ransom for the general's neice. 

Spart. Have I not now the praetor on the hip ? 
He would, in his extremity, have made 
My wife his buckler of defence ; perhapj/ 
Have doomed her to the scourge ! But this is 

Roman. 
Now the l)arbarian is instructed. Look ! 
I hold the praetor by the heart ; and he 
Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. 
Jov. Men do not war on women. Name her 

ransom. 
Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you : 
One day I climbed up to the ridgy top 
Of the cloud -piercing Haemus, where, among 
The eagles and the thunders, from that height, 
I looked upon the world, as far as where, 
Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed 
On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria 
In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. 
Between those surges lay a land, might once 
Have matched Elysium ; but Rome had made it 
A Tartarus. In my green youth I looked 
From the same frosty peak where now I stood, 



And then beheld the glory of those lands. 
Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell 
And singing with the reapers. 
Since that glad day, Rome's conquerors had passed 
With withering armies there, and all was changed. 
Peace had departed ; howling War was there, 
Cheered on by Roman hunters. Then, methought, 
E'en as I looked upon the altered scene. 
Groans echoed thiough the valleys, through 

which ran 
Rivers of blood, like smoking Phlegethons ; 
Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine 
Shrieked in the empty cornfields ! Women knd 

children. 
Robbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve — 
These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou 
Rome wars not, then, on women ? 
Jov. This is not to the matter. 
Spart. Now, by Jove, 
It is ! These things do Romans. Bur tue earth 
Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man, 
Not Roman, but is Rome's extremest foe : 
And such am I ; sworn from that hour I sa% 
Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, 
To wreak on Rome such havoc as Rome wreaks, 
Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. 
Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay ? 
Begone ! This is my answer ! Bird. 

THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS.— 5arj^^M/. 

(Regulus, a Roman consul, having been defeate(f 
in battle and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, 
was detained in captivity five years, and then sent on 
an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, under a promise 
that he would return to Carthage if the proposals 
were rejected. These, it was thoujT:ht, he would 
urge in order to obtain his own liberty ; but he 
urged contrary and patriotic measures on his country- 
men ; and then, having carried his point, resisted 
the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, 
and returned to Carthage, where a martyr's death 
awaited him. Some writers say that he was thrust into 
a cask covered over on the inside with iron spikes, 
and thus rolled down hill. The following scene pre- 
sents Regulus just as he has made known to his friends 
in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage. ) 

Enter Regulus, followed by Sertorius. ' 

Sertorius. Stay, Roman, in pity! — if not for \ 

thy life, \ 

For the sake of thy country, thy children, thy 

wife. 



i 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



307 



Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to 

peace, 
Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. 
Thou return' St to encounter their anger, their 

rage ;— 
No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! 
Regulus. To my captors one pledge, and one 

only, I gave : 
To RETURN, though it were to walk into my 

grave ! 
No hope I extended, no promise I made, 
Rome's Senate and people from war to dissuade. 
If the vengeance .of Carthage be stored for me 

now, 
I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow. 
Sert. They released thee, but dreamed not 

that thou wouldst fulfil 
A part that would leave thee a prisoner still ; 
They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to 

sway 
The councils of Rome a far different way ; 
Would induce thee to urge the conditions they 

crave. 
If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. 
Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict 
Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict ! 
Remain with us, Regulus ! do not go back ! 
No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing 

track ! 
Keep faith with the faithless ? The gods will 

forgive 
The balking of such. O, live, Regulus, live ! 
Reg. With the consciousness fixed in the core 

of my heart. 
That I had been playing the perjurer's part? 
With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever 

nigh, 
That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie ? 
O, never ! Let Carhage infract every oath. 
Be false to her word and humanity both, 
Yet never will I in her infamy share. 
Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! 
Sert. O, think of the kindred and friends 

who await 
To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from 

fate ; 



O, think of the widow, the orphans to be. 
And let thy compassion plead softly with me. 
Reg. O, my friend, thou canst soften, but 
canst not subdue ; 
To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. 
If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrown^ 
All the graces of life to the dust are brought 

down; 
All creation to me is a chaos once more — 
No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! 
And the love that I feel for wife, children, and 

friend, 
Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. 
Sert. Let thy country determine. 
Reg. My country ? Her will, 

Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. 
I go to my doom for my country alone ; 
My life is my country's ; my honor, my own ! 
Sert. O, Regulus ! think of the . pangs in 

reserve ! 
Reg. What menace should make me from 

probity swerve ? 
Sert. Refinements of pain will these mis. 
creants find 
To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. 

Reg. And 'tis to a Roman thy fears are 

addressed ! 
Sert. Forgive me. I know thy unterrified 

breast. 
Reg. Thou know'st me but human — as weak 
to sustain 
As thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. 
This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they 

wreak 
Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue 

from my cheek ; 
But the body alone they can vanquish and kill ; 
The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. 
Then let them make ready their engines of 

dread, 
Their spike-bristling cask, and their torturing 

bed; 
Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath. 
Shall greet as a friend the deliverer, Death ! 
Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, 
And hold it in joy for his country to die. 



308 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



HOW THE MONEY GOES. 

(A temperance play.) 

Characiers. — Man, about thirty -five years aid; 
his Wife; Nellie, his daughter, ten years old ; 
Friend, man about husband's age, dressed in a 
man-of-the-world style ; A. and B., two you?ig 
men, dressed as business 7nen, should appear about 
thirty years of age. 

Scene I. 

(Mr. L. and his wife on the stage ; Mr. i^. 

dressed for his luork, and about to go. ) 

Mrs. L. Albert, I wish you would give me 
seventy-five cents. 

Mr, L. What do you want seventy-five cents 
for? 

Mrs. I. I want to get some braid for my new. 
dress. 

Mr. L. I thought you had material enough on 
hand for that. 

Mrs. L. So I thought 1 had; but it looks 
rather plain wit'i no trimming at all. You know 
I was intending to trim it with that fringe ; but 
it looks too gray, come to try it by the side of 
the dress. 

Mr. L. Haven't you something else that will 

do? 

Mrs. L. No. But, then, braid is cheap ; and 

I can make it look quite pretty with seventy-five 

cents. 

Mr. L. Plague take these women's fashions. 

Your endless trimmings and thing-a-ma-jigs cost 

more than the dress is worth. It is nothing but 

shell out money when a woman thinks of a new 

dress. 

Mrs. L. I don't have many new dresses. I 

do certainly try to be as economical as I can. 
Mr. L. It is funny kind of economy, at all 

events. But if you must have it, I suppose you 

must. 

{Takes out his purse, and counts out carefully 
seventy-five cents, and puts his purse away, 
angrily. He starts to go; but when at the 
door, he thinks he will take his umbrella, and 
goes back for it. Finds his wife in tears, 
which she tries hastily to conceal. ) 



Mr. L. Good gracious ! Kate, I should like 
to know if you are crying at what I said about 
the dress. 

Mrs. L. I was not crying at what you said , 
but you were so reluctant to grant the small 
favor! I was thinking how hard I have to 
work. I am tied to the house. I have many 
little things to perplex me. Then to think — 

Mr. L. Pshaw! What do you want to be 
foolish for. (^Exit.) 

(^In the hall he was met by his little girl, Lizzie. ) 

Lizzie (Jiolding both his hands) . O, papa, give 
me fifteen cents. 

Mr. L. What? 

Lizzie. I want fifteen cents. Please give me 
fifteen cents. 

Mr. L. What in the world do you want it for? 
Are they changing books again ? 

Lizzie. No. I want a hoop. It's splendid 
rolling ; and all the girls have one. Mr. Grant 
has some real nice ones to sell. Please, can't I 
have one ? 

Mr. L. Nonsense ! If you want a hoop, go 
and get one off some old barrel. 1 can't afford 
to buy hoops for you to trundle about the streets. 
( Throws her off. ) 

Lizzie {in a pleading tone). Please, papa? 

Mr. L. No, I told you 1 
{She bursts into tears, and he goes off muttering, 
*' Cry, then, and cry it out. ^^^ 

Scene II. 

(Albert enters, his wife, entering on the opposite 
side. She kisses hi?n as a greeting. ) 

Mrs. Z. I am glad you are home thus early. 
How has business gone to-day ? 

Mr. L. Well, I am happy to say. 

Mrs. L. Are you very tired? 

Mr. L. No ; why ? 

Mrs. L. I want you to go to the sewing circle 
to-night. 

Mr. L. I can't go ; I have an engagement. 

Mrs. L. I am sorry. You never go with me 
now. You used to go a great deal. 
{Just then Lizzie comes i?i cryitig, dragging an old 
hoop, and rubbing her eyes. ) 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



309 



Mr. L. What is the matter with you, darling ? 

Lizzie. The girls have been laughing at me, 
and making fun of my hoop. They say mine is 
ugly and homely. 

Mr. L. Never mind ; perhaps we'll have a 
new one some time. 

Lizzie. Mayn't I have one now? Mr. Grant 
has one left — a real pretty one. 

Mr. L. Not now, Lizzie ; not now. I'll 
think of it. 

(Lizzie goes out crying, followed by her mother. 
A friend of Ux. L. enters.^ 

Friend. Hello, Albert ! What's up? 

Mr. L. Nothing in particular. Take a chair. 

Friend. How's business? 

Mr. L. Good. 

Friend. Did you go to the club last night ? 

Mr. L. Don't speak so loud ! 

Friend. Ha! wife don't know — does she? 
Where does she think you go? 

Mr. L. I don't know. She never asks me, 
and I am glad of it. She asked me to go with 
her to-night, and I told her I was engaged. 

Friend. Good ! I shan't ask you where, but 
take it for granted that it was with me. What 
do yoii say for a game of billiards ? 

Mr. L. Good ! I'm in for that. {^They rise 
to go. ) Have a cigar, Tom ? 

Friend. Yes. ( They go out. ) 

Scene III. 
( Two 7nen in conversation as they come upon the 
stage. ) 
B. Billiards ? No, I never play billiards. 

A. Why not? 

B. I don't like its tendency. 

A. It is only a healthy pastime. I am sure it 
has no evil tendency. 

B. I cannot assert that the game in its most 
innocent form is, of itself, an evil, to be sure. 
But, although it has the advantage of calling 
forth skill and judgment, yet it is evil when it 
excites and stimulates beyond the bounds of 
healthy recreation. 

A. That result can scarcely follow such a 
game. 



B. You are wrong there. The result can 
follow in two ways. First, it can lead men 
away from their business. Secondly, it leads 
those to spend money who have none to spend. 
Look at that young man just passing. He 
looks like a mechanic ; and I should judge from 
his appearance that he has a family. I see by 
his face that he is kind and generous, and wants 
to do as near right as he can. I have watched 
him in the billiard saloon time after time, and 
only last night I saw him pay one dollar and 
forty cents for two hours' recreation. He did 
it cheerfully, too, and smiled at his loss. But 
how do you suppose it is at home ? Suppose 
his wife had asked him for a dollar or two for 
some household ornament, or his child, if ht 
has one, for a picture-book or toy, what do you 
suppose he would have answered ? This is not 
conjecture ; for you and I both know plenty ol 
such cases. 

A. Upon my word, B., you speak to the 
point \ for I know that young man, and what 
you have sai4 is true. I can furnish you with 
facts. We have a club for a literary paper in 
our village, and last year he was one of the sub- 
scribers. This year he was obliged to discon- 
tinue. His wife was very anxious to take it ; 
but he said he could not afford the ^1.25 for it. 
And his little Lizzie, ten years old, has coaxed 
her father for fifteen cents, for a hoop, in vain. 
My Nellie told me that. 

B. Yes ; and that two hours' recreation last 
night, would have paid for both. It is well for 
wives and children that they do not know where 
all the money goes. 

THE SALUTATORIAN'S DIFFI- 
CULTIES. 

CHARACTERS. 

FRA.NK Clayton. Sammy Long. 

Harry Thompson. Johnny . Wilson. 

Tommy Watkins. Willie Brown. 

Scene. — A stage. Curtain rises, and I'rank 
Clayton comes forward and speaks. 
Frank. Ladies and gentlemen : Our peiibrm- 
ances are now about to commence. We have 



310 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



spent some time in preparing for this exhibition, 
and we hope you will be pleased with all the 
performances that may be given. You well 
know that we have not had much practice in 
giving school exhibitions, and if you see any 
errors, we hope you will kindly forgive and 
overlook. We will endeavor to give our recita- 
tions correctly, and act our parts truthfully, and 
we ask you to — ^and we ask you to— and — and — 
and we ask that — that — 

i^Enter Harry Thompson. He comes in front of 
Frank and commences to speak. ) 

" Did you ever hear of Jehosophat Boggs, 
A dealer and raiser of all sorts of dogs? 
No ? Then I' 11 endeavor in doggerel verse 
To just the main points of the story rehearse. 
Boggs had a good wife — " 

Frank. (^Speaking in a loud whisper. ) Harry, 
what did you come out here for? I'm not 
through with the introductory speech yet. 

Harry. ( Turns half way raiindy puts his hand 
to his mouthy as if to keep the audience frojn hear- 
ingy and speaks in a loud whisper. ) I know you 
weren't through, but you stuck, and I thought I 
had better come on. You know my recitation 
is second on the programme, and I didn't want to 
have a bungle right at the commencement of the 
exhibition. 

Frank. Go back to your place, you little 
rascal, and don't interrupt me again. I'm 
going to speak my piece. 

Harry. ( With his hand up to hide his mouth as 
before.^ Oh, you're stuck and you'd better 
retire. ( Turns to audience and continues to speak 
his piece. ) 

** Boggs had a good wife, the joy of his life. 
There was nothing between them inclining to 

strife. 
Except her dear J.'s dogmatic employment ; 
And that, she averred, did mar her enjoyment. ' ' 

Frank. ( Whispering as before. ) I say, Harry, 

get from before me and let me speak my 
piece. 

Harry. ( Turns, puts up his hand, and tvhis- 



pers as before. ) Oh, you keep shady until I get 
through, i^Turns to audiefzce and speaks.^ 

'* She often had begged. him to sell off his dogs, 
And instead to raise turkeys, spring chickens 

or hogs. 
She made him half promise at no distant day 
He would sell the whole lot, not excepting old 

Tray; 
And as good luck would have it, — " 

Frank. (^Turning Harry by the collar and 
pulling him back.) I tell you to get out of this 
until I have spoken my piece. 

Harry. I won't. Let me alone, I say. You 
have stuck fast, and do you want to spoil the 
exhibition? Didn't you know enough to keep 
off the stage until I had spoken my piece ? 

Frank. {Still holding hifn by the collar.) It is 
you that are spoiling the exhibition. ( Leads him 
off the stage. ) 

Har?y. {Speaking loudly as he goes out.) 
I call this an outrage. 

Frank. {Returning to his place and com- 
mencing to speak.) Ladies and gentlemen, my 
speech has been interrupted, and I will com- 
mence again. Our performances are now about 
to commence. We have spent some time in 
preparing for this exhibition, and we hope you 
will be pleased with all the performances that 
may be given. You know that we have not had 
much practice in giving school exhibitions, and 
if you see any errors, we hope you will kindly 
forgive and overlook. We will endeavor to 
give our recitations correctly, and act our parts 
truthfully, and we ask you to — to — and we ask 
you to — and act our parts truthfully, and we ask 
you to — and we ask you to — {In a lower tone. ) 
I've forgotten it again; isn't that too bc-1? 
{Speaking as before. ) And we ask you to — to 
— to— 

{Enter Tommy Watkins. He comes in front oj 
Frank, and cojnmences to speak " The Ghost.^^) 

♦' 'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law, 
A short, round, favored merry 
Old soldier of the Revolutionary 
War, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



311 



""is wedded to a luv.:. ^Dominable shrew. 
ihe temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine 
Could no more be compared with hers 
Than mine 
With Lucifer's. 

Frank. {In a loud whisper. ) Tommy Watkins, 
get from before me. Don't you see I'm speak- 
ing ? I don' t want to be interrupted — I want 
to finish my speech. 

Tommy. {Facing the audience and speaking 
in the same tone as when reciting his speech. ) 
Oh, you'd better quit ! You've stuck twice 
now, and if you don't go off the stage the audi- 
ence will become disgusted. 

Sammy Long. {Seated in the audience. ) The 
people are disgusted now with that boy's open- 
ing speech. He'd better go home, memorize 
it, and speak it some time next year. 

Tommy. There ! You hear what they say out 
there in the audience. They are disgusted, and 
they think you had better leave the stage. 

Frank. Oh, that's nobody but Sammy Long, 
and he is displeased because we didn't invite 
him, to take part in the exhibition. 

Tommy. Well, I'll go ahead and speak my 
piece while you are trying to think up the words 
you have forgotten. 

Her eyes were like a weasel's ; she had a harsh 

Face, like a cranberry marsh. 

All spread with spots of white and red ; 

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw. 

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. 

The appellation of this lovely dame 

Was Nancy ; don't forget the name. 

Frank. Stop, Tommy ; I can finish my speech 
now. 

Tommy. So can I. ( Continues his recitation. ) 

His brother David was a tall, 
Good-looking chap, and that was all ; 
One of your great big nothings, as they say 
Out in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes. 
And cracking them on other folks. 
Well, David undertook one night to play 



The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who. 

He knew, 

Would be returning from a journey through 

A grove of forest wood 

That stood 

Below 

The house some distance — half a mile or so. 

With a long taper 

Cap of white paper. 

Just made to cover 

A wig, nearly as large over 

As a corn-basket, and a sheet 

With both ends made to meet 

Across his breast 

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed). 

He took 

His station near 

A huge oak-tree. 

Whence he could overlook 

The road and see 

Whatever might appear. 

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel 

Had left the table 

Of an inn, where he had made a halt. 

With horse and wagon. 

To taste a flagon 

Of malt 

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, 

He went on. 

Caring no more for twenty ghosts 

Than if they had been so many posts 

David was nearly tired of waiting ; 

His patience was abating ; 

At length, he heard the careless tones 

Of his kinsman's voice, 

And then the noise 

Of wagon-wheels among the stones. 

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring 

With all his might, and pouring 

Out, in great confusion. 

Scraps of old songs made in ' ' the Revolution. " 

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton ; 
And jovially he went on. 



312 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONSc 



Scaring the whip-po' -wills among the trees 
With rhymes like these : 

(^Si'n^s. Air J * * Yankee Doodle. ' ' ) 

* ' See the Yankees 

Leave the hill, 

With baggernetts declining, 
VVith lopped -down hats 
And rusty guns. 

And leather aprons shining. ' ' 

"'See the Yankees' — Whoa! Why, what is 
that?" 
Said Abel, staring like a cat. 
As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode 
Into the middle of the road. 

'* My conscience ! what a suit of clothes ! 

Some crazy fellow, I suppose. 

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the 
powers of gin. 

That's a strange dress to travel ia " 
* * Be silent, Abel ; for I now have come 

To read your doom ; 

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. 

I am a spirit — " '^ I suppose you are ; 

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why : 

Here is a fact which you cannot deny ; — • 

All spirits must be either good 

Or bad — that's understood — 

And be you good or evil, I am sure 

That I'm secure. 

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil — 

And I don't know but you may be the devil — 

If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy. 

That I am married to your sister Nancy ! " 

(^Bows and turns to go off. To Fran K. ) Now, 
Frank, you can go ahead again until you come to 
ihe sticking place. I hope that, during the time 
I have generously given you by speaking my 
piece, you have been collecting your scattered 
senses, and will now be able to finish what you 
began. {Exit Tommy. ) 

Frank. Ladies and gentlemen, I am not at 
all pleased with this way of doing business. I 
think these boys have not treated me with 
proper respect. I was selected to give the 



opening or introductory addre&s, and you sec 
how it has been done. 

Sammy. (^In the audience.^ We didn't see 
very much of it. Don't you think it would be 
well enough for you to retire and memorize your 
speech ? 

Frank. You boys out there had better keep 
silent and not create a disturbance. There is 
an officer in the house. 

{Enter Willie Brown. FTe comes before Frank 
and commences to speak. ) 

'* 'Twas night ! The stars were shrouded in 
a veil of mist; a clouded canopy o'erhung the 
world; the vivid lightnings flashed and shook 
their fiery darts upon the earth — ' ' 

Frank. {Speaking out.') I say, Willie Brown, 
what did you come here for? I haven't finished 
the opening speech yet. 

Willie. What's the use of having an open- 
ing speech now ? The exhibition is half over. 
{Continues his speech.') 

*'The deep-toned thunder rolled along the 
vaulted sky ; the elements were in wild commo- 
tion ; the storm-spirit howled in the air ; the 
winds whistled ; the hail-stones fell like leaden 
balls ; the hugh undulations of the ocean dashed 
upon the rock-bound shore ; and torrents leaped 
from mountain tops ; when the murderer sprang 
from his sleepless couch with vengeance on his 
brow — murder in his heart — and the fell instru- 
ment of destruction in his hand." 

Frank. Stop, I say. What kind of an exhi- 
bition will this be without an introductory 
speech ? Stop, I say. We will be the laugh- 
ing-stock of the country if we don't open our 
exhibition with an introductory speech. 

Johnny. {In the audience.) Oh, nobody cares 
for the introductory speech. Let the speech go 
and give us some dialogues and songs. 

Willie. No dialogues and songs until I have 
finished my speech. This is my place on the 
programme. {Cojitinues his speech. Frank 
comes and stands near him and they both speak at 
the same time, Willie giving the concluding por- 
tion of his speech and Frank commencing at the 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



313 



first of his Opetung Speech and going as far as he 
had gone before. Willie should finish just before 
Frank commences to stammer, ) 

"■ The storm increased ; the lightnings flashed 
with brighter glare j the thunder growled with 
deeper energy ; the winds whistled with a wilder 
fury ; the confusion of the hour was congenial 
to his soul, and the stormy passions which raged 
in his bosom. He clenched his weapon with a 
sterner grasp. A demoniac smile gathered on 
his Hp; he grated his teeth; raised his arm; 
sprang with a yell of triumph upon his victim, 
and relentlessly killed — a fnosquito? ' ' (^B'ows 
and turns to go off. To Frank. ) Stuck again, 
my boy? If we had waited for the opening 
speech we would not have got our exhibition 
opened for a week or ten days. 

(^jc// Willie.) 

(^Enter Harry Thompson. He comes forward 
and speaks. ) 

Our parts are performed and our speeches are 
ended, 
We are monarchs and courtiers and heroes no 
more ; 
To a much humbler station again we've de- 
scended. 
And are now but the school-boys you've 
■ known us before. 

Farewell then our greatness — 'tis gone like a 
dream, 
'Tis gone — ^but remembrance will often re- 
trace 
The indulgent applause which rewarded each 
theme, 
And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened 
each face. 

We thank you ! Our gratitude words cannot tell, 
But deeply we feel it — to you it belongs ; 

With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell. 
And our feelings now thank you much more 
than our tongues. 

We will strive to improve, since applauses thus 
cheer us, 



That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind 

looks ; 
And we hope to convince you, the next time 

you hear us. 
That praise has but sharpened our relish for 

books. 

{^Bows and turns to go off. ) I have spoken 
the valedictory, and the exhibition is over. 
Ring down the curtain. 

Frank. (^Excitedly.) Stop! Hold! Don't! 1 
haven't finished my speech yet. 

Johnny. (^In the audience.') You've given us 
enough for the present. You can finish it out 
next Christmas. 

Harry. Ring down the curtain. 

Frank. Stop ! Don't 1 Don't ! I want to 
speak my piece. {A bell is rung and the curtain 
falls.) 

Frank. (^Drawing the curtain aside and looking 
out.) Here's a go ! How are we going to get 
along without an Opening Speech? (^Disap' 
pears. ) 

[curtain.] 

GO, FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. 

(Earnest temperance recitation.) 

O, feel what I have felt. 

Go, bear what I have borne ; 
Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt. 
And the cold, proud world's scorn. 
Thus struggle on from year to year. 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall ; 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way. 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go, kneel as, I have knelt : 

Implore beseech and pray. 
Strive the besotted heart to melt. 

The downward course to stay ; 
Be cast with bitter curse aside, — 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 



G 



314 



.iISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow ; 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood 

And cold and livid brow ; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored his soul's misery. 

Go, hear what I have heard, — 

The sobs of sad despair. 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been. 
Had he the drunkard's fate forseen. 

Go to my mother's side. 

And her crushed spirit cheer ; 
Thine own deep anguish hide. 

Wipe from her cheek the tear ; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now. 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth, 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup, 
And led her down from love and light, 
From all that made her pathway bright, 
And chained her there 'mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife ! 
And stamped on childhood's brow, so mild. 
That withering blight, — a drunkard's child ! 

(jO, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known 

Then look within the wine-cup's glow; 
See if its brightness can atone ; 

Think of its flavor would you try, 

If all proclaimed, — ' Tis drink and die. 

Tell nic I hate the bowl, — 

Hate is a feeble word ; 
I loathe, abhor, my very soul 
. By strong disgust is stirred 
Whene'er I see, or hear; or tell 

Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HELL ! 



THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 

(Dramatic.) 

STAY, jailer, stay and hear my woe ! 
He is not mad who kneels to thee ; 
For what I'm now too well I know, 
And what I was — and what should be ! 
I'll rave no more in proud despair — 

My language shall be mild though sad ; 
But yet I'll firmly, truly swear, 
I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

My tyrant foes have forged the tale. 

Which chains me in this dismal cell ! 
My fate unknown my friends bewail — 

! jailer, haste that fate to tell ! 
O ! haste my father's heart to cheer; 

His heart at onc^ 'twill grieve and glad, 
To know, though chained a captive here, 

1 am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

He smiies in scorn — he turns the key — - 

He quits the grate — I knelt in vain ! 
His glimmering lamp still, still I see — 

/Tis gone — and all is gloom again ! 
Cold, bitter cold ! — no warmth, no light ! 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ! 
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, 

Although not mad ! no, no — not mad ! 

'Tis sure some dream — some vision vain ! 

What ! I — the child of rank and wealth- 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain. 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled. 

Which never more my heart must glad. 
How aches my heart, how burns my head ! 

But 'tis not mad ! it is not mad ! 

Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this 

A parent's face, a parent's tongue? 
I'll ne'er forget thy parting kiss. 

Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! 
Nor how with me you sued to stay. 

Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; 
Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away — 

They'll make me mad ! they'll make me mad ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



15 



Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! 

Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
fone ever saw a lovelier child ! 

And art thou now forever gone ? 
And must I never see thee more. 

My pretty, gracious, noble lad ? — > 
I will be free ! Unbar the door ! 

I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

O, hark! what mean those yells and cries? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ! 
He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! 

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! 
Help ! help ! — he's gone ! O, fearful woe. 

Such screams, to hear, such sights to see ! 
My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, 

I am not mad — but soon shall be ! 

Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, 

Mark^ how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 
He sees me — now, with dreadful shriek. 

He whirls a serpent high in air ! 
Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! 

Your task is done — I'm mad ! I'm mad J 

M. G. Lewis. 

OUT OF THE OLD HOUSE, NANCY. 

(This selection is more effective if the speaker and 
a lady, impersonating the wife, be dressed as if leav- 
ing the house, in which case they should stand to 
the side of the stage near a door, and the speaker 
appear unconscious of the audience and address the 
old wife.) 

OUT of the old house, Nancy- — moved up 
into the new ; 
All the hurry and worry are just as good 
as through ; 
Only a bounden duty remains for you and I, 
And that's to stand on the door-step here and 
bid the old house good-bye. 

What a shell we've lived in these nineteen or 

twenty years ! 
Wonder it hadn't smashed in and tumbled about 

our ears; 

Wonder it stuck together and answered till to-day, 
But every individual log was put up here to stay. 



Yes, a deal has happened to make this old house 

dear : 
Christenin's, funerals, weddin's — what haven't 

we had here? 
Not a log in this old buildin' but its memories 

has got — 
And not a nail in this old floor but touches a 

tender spot. 

Ottt of the old house, Nancy — moved up into 

the new; 
All the hurry and worry is just as good as 

through ; 
But I teli you a thing right here, that I ain't 

ashamed to say : 
There's precious things in this old house we 

never can take away. 

Here the old house will stand, but not as it 
stood before ; 

Winds will whistle through it and rains will 
flood the floor ; 

And over the hearth once blazing, the snow- 
drifts oft will pile. 

And the old thing will seem to be a mournin' 
all the while. 

Fare you well, old house ! you're naught that 

can feel or see. 
But you seem like a human being — a dear ^^Id 

friend to me ; 
And we never will have a better home, if my 

opinion stands, 
Until we commence a keepin' house in the 

''house not made with hands." 

GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN 

John. 

I'VE worked in the field all day, a-plowin 
the ''stony streak ; " 
I've scolded my team till I'm hoarse ; I've 
tramped till my legs are weak ; 
I've choked a dozen swears, (so's not to teP 

Jane fibs;) 
When the plow-pint struck a stone, and the 
handles punched my ribs. 



ol(i 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



\'ve put my team in the barn, and rubbed their 

sweaty coats ; 
Cve fed 'em a heap of hay and half a bushel of 

oats ; 
And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' 

feel, 
/Vnd Jane won't say to-night that I don't make 

out a meal. 

Well said ! the door is locked ! but here she's 
left the key, 

Under the step, in a place known only to her 
and me ; 

I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hus- 
tled off pell-mell ; 

But here on the table's a note, and probably 
this will tell. 

Good God ! my wife is gone ! my wife is gone 

astray ! 
The letter it says, *' Good-bye, for I'm a-going 

away ; 
.'ve lived with you six months, John, and so far 

I've been true ; 
But I'm going away to-day with a handsomer 

man than you." 

A han'somer man than me ! Why, that ain't 

much to say ; 
There's han'somer men than me go past here 

every day. 
There's han'somer men than me — I ain't of the 

han'some kind ; 
But a lai^en^ cr man than I was, I guess she'll 

never find. 

Curse her ! curse her ! I say, and give my curses 

wings ! 
May the words of love I've spoken be changed 

to scorpion stings ! 
Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied 

my heart of doubt. 
And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my 

heart's blood out ! 

Curse her! curse her! say I, she'll some time 
rue this day ; 



She'll some time learn that hate is a game that 

two can play ; 
And long before she dies she'll grieve she eve/ 

was born. 
And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed ii 

down to scorn. 

As sure as the world goes on, there'll come a 

time when she 
Will read the devilish heart of that han'somei 

man than me ; 
And there'll be a time when he will find, as 

others do. 
That she who is false to one, can be tl.e same 

with two. 

And when her face grows pale, and when her 

eyes grow dim. 
And when he is tired of her and she is tired of 

him. 
She'll do what she ought to have done, and 

coolly count the cost ; 
And then she'll see things clear, and know what 

she has lost. 

And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up 

in her mind. 
And she will mourn and cry for what she has 

left behind ; 
And maybe she'll sometimes long for me — for 

me — but no ! 
I've blotted her out of my heart, and I will not 

have it so. 

And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' 

or other she had 
That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely 

bad ; 
And she loved me a little, I think, although it 

didn't last ; 
But I mustn't think of these things — I've buried 

'em in the past. 

I'll take my hard words back, nor make a bad 

matter worse ; 
She'll have trouble enough; she shall not have 

my curse ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



But I'll live a life so square — and I well know 

that I can, — 
That she always will sorry be that she went with 

that han'somer man. 

Ah, nere is her kitchen dress ! it makes my poor 

eyes blur ; 
It seems when I look at that, as if 'twas holdin' 

her. 
And here are her week-day shoes, and there is 

her week-day hat. 
And yonder' s her weddin' gown; I wonder she 

didn't take that. 

*Twas only this mornin' she came and called me 

her '* dearest dear," 
And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise 

here; 

God ! if you want a man to sense the pains 

of hell. 
Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven 
a spell ! 

Good-bye ! I wish that death had severed us two 

apart. 
You've lost a worshiper here, you've crushed a 

lovin' heart. 
I'U worship no woman again; but guess I'll 

learn to pray. 
And kneel as you used to kneel, before you run 

away. 

And if I thought I could bring my words on 

Heaven to bear,' 
And if I thought I had some little influence 

there, 

1 would pray that I might be, if it only could be so, 
As happy and gay as I was a half hour agr 

Jane {entering). 

Why, John, what a litter here ! you've thrown 
things all around ! 

JCome, what's the matter now? and what have 
you lost or found ? 

And here's my father here, a waiting for supper, 
too; 

I've been a riding with him — ^he's that ** hand- 
somer man than you." 



Ha ! ha ! Pa, take a seat, while I put the ket- 
tle on, 

And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear 
old John. 

Why, John, you look so strange ! come, what 
has crossed your track ? 

I was only a joking, you know ; I'm willing to 
take it back. 

John {aside'). 
Well, now, if this ain' t a joke, with rather a 

bitter cream ! 
It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish 

dream ; 
And I think she ''smells a rat," for she smiles 

at me so queer, 
I hope she don't; good gracious ! I hope that 

they didn't hear ! 

'Twas one of her practical drives — she thought 

I'd understand ! 
But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay 

of the land. 
But one thing s settled with me — to appreciate 

heaven well, 
'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes 

of hell. Will Carleton. 



I 



CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. 

(Dramatic reading. ) 
T sometimes happens that a man, traveler or 
fisherman, walking on the beach at low 
tide, far from the bank, suddenly notices 
that for several minutes he has been walking with 
some difficulty. The strand beneath his feet is 
like pitch; his soles stick in it; it is sand no 
longer ; it is glue. 

The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step 
he takes, as soon as he lifts his foot, the print 
which it leaves fills with water. The eye, how- 
ever, has noticed no change ; the immense 
strand is smooth and tranquil ; all the sand has 
the same appearance ; nothing distinguishes the 
surface which is solid from that which is no 
longer so ; the joyous little crowd of sand-flies 
continue to leap tumultuously over the wayfarer's 
feet. The man pursues his way, goes forward, 



:il8 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



inclines to the land, endeavors to get nearer the 
upland. 

He is not anxious. Anxious about what ? 
Only he feels, somehow, as if the weight of his 
feet increases with every step he takes. Suddenly 
he sinks in. 

He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly 
he is not on the right road ; he stops to take his 
bearings ; now he looks at his feet. They have 
disappeared. The sand covers them. He draws 
them out of the sand ; he will retrace his steps. 
He turns back, he sinks in deeper. The sand 
comes up to his ankles; he pulls himself out and 
throws himself to the left — the sand half leg deep. 
He throws himself to the right ; the sand comes 
up to his shins. Then he recognizes with 
unspeakable terror that he is caught in the quick- 
sand, and that he has beneath him the terrible 
medium in which man can no more walk than 
the fish can swim. He throws off his load if he 
has one, lightens himself as a ship in distress ; it 
is already too late ; the sand is above his knees. 
He calls, he waves his hat or his handkerchief; 
the sand gains on him more and more. If the 
beach is deserted, if the land is too far off, if 
there is no help in sight, it is all over. 

He is condemned to that appalling burial, 
long infallible, implacable, and impossible to 
slacken or to hasten ; which endures to. h^^irs, 
which seizes you erect, free, and in full health, 
and which draws you by the feet ; which at every 
effort that you attempt, at every shout you utter, 
drags you a little deeper, sinking you slowly 
into the earth while you look upon the horizon, 
the sails of the ships upon the sea, the birds fly- 
ing and singing, the sunshine and the sky. The 
victim attempts to sit down, to lie down, to 
creep ; every movement he makes inters him ; 
he straightens up, he sinks in ; he feels that he 
is being swallowed. He howls, implores, cries 
to the clouds, despairs. 

Behold him waist deep in the sand. The sand 
reaches his breast ; he is now only a bust. He 
raises his arms, utters furious groans, clutches 
the beach with his nails, would hold by that 
straw, leans upon his elbows to i)ull himself out 



of this soft sheath ; sobs frenziedly ; the sand 
rises ; the sand reaches his shoulders ; the sand 
reaches his neck ; the face alone is visible now. 
The mouth cries, the sand fills it — silence. The 
eyes still gaze, the sand shuts them — night. 
Now the forehead decreases, a little hair flutters 
above the sand ; a hand comes to the surface 
of the beach, moves, and shakes, disappears. 
It is the earth -drowning man. The earth filled 
with the ocean becomes a trap. It presents 
itself like a plain, and opens like a wave. 

Victor Hugo. 

TH^£ AMERICAN INDIAN. 

NOT many generations ago, where you now 
sit, circled with all that exalts and em- 
bellishes civilized life, the rank thistle 
nodded in the wind, and the wild fox dug his 
hole unscared. He lived and loved another 
race of beings. Beneath the same sun that 
rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued 
the panting deer ; gazing on the same moon 
that smi.es foi' you, the Indian lover wooed his 
dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze beamed 
on the tender and helpless, the council fire 
glared on the wise and daring. Now they dipped 
their noble limbs in your sledgy lakes, and now 
they paddled the light canoe along your rocky 
shores. Here they warred ; the echoing whoop, 
the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all 
were here ; and when the tiger strife was over, 
here curled the smoke of peace. 

Here, too, they worshipped ; and from many 
a dark bosom went up a pure prayer to the Great 
Spirit. He had not written his laws for them 
on tables of stone, but he had traced them on 
the tables of their hearts. The poor child of 
nature knew not the God of revelation, but the 
God of the universe he acknowledged in every 
thing around. He beheld him in the star that 
sunk in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in 
the sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid- 
day throne ; in the flower that snapped in the 
morning breeze ; in the lofty pine, that defied a 
thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid warbler that 
never left its native grove ; in the fearless eagle 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



319 



whose untired pinion was wet in clouds ; in the 
worm that crawled at his feet ; and in his own 
matchless form, glowing with a spark of that 
light, to whose mysterious source he bent in 
humble, though blind, adoration. 

And all this has passed away. Across the 
ocean came a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of 
life and death. The former were sown for you ; 
the latter sprang up in the path of the simple 
/'native. Three hundred years have changed the 
character of a great continent, and blotted 
forever from its face a whole peculiar people. 
Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the 
children of education have been too powerful for 
the tribes of the ignorant. Here and there a 
stricken few remain ; but how unlike their bold, 
untamed, untamable progenitors! The Indian 
of falcon glance and lion bearing, the theme of 
the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic 
tale, is gone ! and his degraded offspring crawl 
upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to 
remind us how miserable is man when *he foot 
of the conqueror is on his neck. 

As a race, they have withered from the land. 
Their arrows are broken, their springe are dried 
up, their cabins are in the dust. Their council- 
fire has long since gone out on the shore, and 
their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden 
West. Slowly and sadly they climb the distant 
mountains, and read their doom in the setting 
sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide 
which is pressing them away; they must soon 
hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle 
over them forever. 

Charles Sprague. 

DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. 

THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung 
low 
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 
The reeds bent down the stream : the willow 

leaves 
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide. 
Forgot the lifting winds ; and the long stems 



Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse 
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, 
And leaned, in graceful attitude, to res*-. 
How strikingly the course of nature tells 
By its light heed of human suffering. 
That it was fashioned for a happier world. 

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled 
From far Jerusalem : and now he stood 
With his faint people, for a little space. 
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow, 
To its refreshing breath ; for he had worn 
The mourner's covering, and had not felt 
That he could see his people until now. 
They gathered round him on the fresh green 

bank 
And spoke their kindly words : and as the sun 
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there. 
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. 
Oh ! when the heart is full, — when bitter 

thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for utterance. 
And the poor common words of courtesy. 
Are such a very mockery — how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer ! 
He prayed for Israel : and his voice went up 
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those. 
Whose love had been his shield : and his deep 

tones 
Grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom, — 
For his estranged, misguided Absalom, — - 
The proud bright being who had burst away 
In all his princely beauty, to defy 
The heart that cherished him — for him he 

poured 
In agony that would not be controlled 
Strong supplica*-:jn, and forgave him there. 
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 

ik 5?i ik ik ik ifc ^ 

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath 
Was straightened for the grave : and as the folds 
Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed 
The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls 
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed 



:v2i) 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



To the admitted air, as glossy now 

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing 

The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. 

His helm was at his feet : his banner soiled 

With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid. 

Reversed, beside him ; and the jewelled hilt 

Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade. 

Rested like mockery on his covered brow. 

The soldiers of the King trod to and fro. 

Clad in the garb of battle ; and their chief. 

The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, 

And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 

As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 

A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 

As if a trumpet rang : but the bent form 

Of David entered, and he gave command 

In a low tone to his few followers. 

And left him with his dead. The King stood 

still 
Till the last echo died : then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The pall from the still features of his child. 
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe : 

•'Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou should' st die, — 
Thou who wert made so beautifully fair ! 

That death should settle in thy glorious eye. 
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair — 

How could he mark thee for the silent tomb ? 
My proud boy, Absalom ! 

* * Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill 

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee — 
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill. 

Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress 
thee — 
And hear thy sweet * My father ^ ' from these 
dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

** The grave hath won thee. I shali wear the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young : 

And life will pass me in the mantling blush. 
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung, — 

But thou no more with thy sweet roice shalt come 
To meet me, Absalom ! 



*'And, oh ! when I am stricken, and m> heart 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken. 

How will its love for thee, as T depart, 

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! 

It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, 
To see thee, Absaldm ! 

''And now farewell. 'Tis hard to give thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; 

And thy dark sin — oh ! I could drink the cup 
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. 

May God have called thee, like a wanderer, 
home. 
My lost boy, Absalom ! ' ' 

He covered up his face, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child ; then giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer : 
And as if strength were given him of God, 
He rose up calmly and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, — and left him there. 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 

N. P. Willis. 

POOR LITTLE JOE. 

(Touchingly pathetic. ) 

ROP yer eyes wide open, Joey, 

For I've brought you sumpin' great. 
Apples ? No, a heap sight better ! 
Don't you take no int'rest? Wait ! 
Flowers, Joe — I know'd you'd like 'em — 

Ain't them scrumptious? Ain't them high? 
Tears, my boy? Wot's them fur, Joey? 
There — poor little Joe ! — don't cry ! 

I was skippin' past a winder, 

Where a bang-up lady sot, 
All amongst a lot of bushes — 

Each one climbin' from a pot ; 
Every bush had flowers on it — 

Pretty ? Mebbe not ! Oh, no ! 
Wish you could a seen 'em growin'. 

It was sich a stunnin' show. 

Well, I thought of you, poor feller, 
Lyin' here so thin and weak, 



P 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



321 



Never knowin' any comfort, 

And I puts on lots o' cheek. 
^Missus," says I, "If you please, mum, 
Could I ax you for a rose ? 

For my little brother, missus- . 
Never seed one, I suppose.'* 

Then I told her all about you, — 

How I bringed you up — poor Joe ! 
(Lackin' women folks to do it.) 

Sich a 'imp you was, you know — 
Till yer got that awful tumble, 

Jist as I had broke yer in 
(Hard work, too,) to earn yer livin' . 

Blackin' boots for honest tin. 

How that tumble crippled of you, 

So's you couldn't hyper much — 
Joe, it hurted when I seen you 

Fur the first time with your crutch. 
*But," I says, he's laid up now, mum, 

'Pears to weaken every day ;" 
Joe, she up and went to cuttin' — 

That's the how of this bokay 

Say ! It seems to me, ole feller. 

You is quite yerself to-night ; 
Kind o' chirk — it's been a fomit 

Sence yer eyes has been so bright. 
Better? Well, I'm glad to hear it ! 

Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe, 
Smellin! of ^ em^s made you happy ? 

Well, I thought it would, you know ! 

Never see the country, did you ? 

Flowers growin' everywhere ! 
Some time when you're better, Joey, 

Mebbe I kin take you there. 
Flowers in heaven ? 'M — I s'pose so ; 

Dunno much about it, though * 
Ain't as fly as wot I might be 

On them topics, little Joe. 

But I've heard it hinted somewheres 

That in heaven's golden gates 

Things is everlastin' cheerful — 

B'lieve that's wot the Bible states. 
21 



Likewise, there folks don't git hungry, 
So good people, when they dies. 

Finds themselves well fixed forever — 
Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes ? 

Thought they looked a little sing'ler. 

Oh, no ! Don't you have no fear ; 
Heaven was made fur such as you is — 

Joe, wot makes you look so queer ? 
Here — wake up ! Oh, don't look that way : 

Joe ! My boy ! Hold up yer head ! 
Here's yer flowers — you dropped 'em, Joey J 

Oh, my God, can Joe be dead? 

P. Arkwright. 

DOT LAMBS WHAT MARY HAF GOT. 

(Dialectic.) 

MARY haf got a leetle lambs already ; 
Dose vool vos vite like shnow \ 
Und efery times dot Mary did vend oud, 
Dot lambs vent also out, wid Mary. 

Dot lambs dit follow Mary von day of der 
school -house, 
Vich vos obbosition to der rules of her school- 
master ; 
Also, vich it did caused dose schillen to smile 
out loud, 
Ven dey did saw dose lambs on der insides ov 
der school-house. 

Und so dot school-master dit kick der lambs 
gwick oud ; 
Likewise dot lambs dit loaf around on der 
outsides, 
Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently 
aboud — 
Until Mary did come also from dot sci.ool- 
house oud. 

Und den dot lambs did run right away gwick to 
•Mary, 
Und dit make his het gwick on Mary's 
arms, 
\ Like he would said, '* I don't was schared, 

Mary would kept me from droubles ena- 
how!" 



^^2 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



" Vot vos der reason aboud it, of dat lambs und 
Mary?" 
Dose schillen did ask it dot school-master : 
*' Veil, don'd you know it, dot Mary lofe dose 
lambs already?" 
Dot school-master did said. 

THE MISER. 

AN old man sat by a fireless hearth, 
Though the night was dark and chill, 
And mournfully over the frozen earth 
The wind sobbed loud and shrill. 
His locks were gray, and his eyes were gray, 

And dim, but not with tears ; 
And his skeleton form had wasted away 
With penury, more than years. 

A rush-light was casting a fitful glare 

O'er the damp and dingy walls, 
Where the lizard hath made his slimy lair, 

And the venomous spider crawls ; 
But the meanest thing in this lonesome room 

Was the miser worn and bare, 
Where he sat like a ghost in an empty tomb. 

On his broken and only chair. 

He had bolted the window and barred the door, 

And every nook had scanned ; 
And felt the fastening o'er and o'er 

With his cold and skinny hand ; 
And yet he sat gazing intently round, 

And trembled with silent fear. 
And started and shuddered at every sound 

That fell on his coward ear. 

"Ha, ha! " laughed the miser: "Vm safe at 
last 

From this night so cold and drear. 
From the drenching rain and driving blast. 

With my gold and treasures here. 
I am cold and wet with the icy rain. 

And my health is bad, 'tis true ; 
Yet if I should light that fire again. 

It would cost me a cent or two. 

** But I'll take a sip of the precious wine: 
It will banish my cold and fears : 



It was given long since by a friend ot mine—* 

I have kept it for many years." 
So he drew a flask from a mouldy nook. 

And drank of its ruby tide ; 
And his eyes grew bright with each draught he 
took. 

And his bosom, swelled with pride. 

"Let me see ; let me see ! " said the miser then, 

" 'Tis some sixty years or more 
Since the happy hour when I began 

To heap up the glittering store : 
And well have I sped with my anxious toil. 

As my crowded chest will show : 
I've more than would ransom a kingdom's spoil, 

Or an emperor could bestow. ' ' 

He turned to an old worm-eaten chest. 

And cautiously raised the lid. 
And then it shone like the clouds of the west. 

With the sun in their splendor hid : 
And gem after gem, in precious store. 

Are raised with exulting smile ; 
And he counted and counted them o'er and o'er 

In many a glittering pile. 

Why comes the flush to his pallid brow, 

While his eyes like his diamonds shine ? 
Why writhes he thus in such torture now? 

What was there in the wine ? 
He strove his lonely seat to gain : 

To crawl to his nest he tried ; 
But finding his eflbrts all in vain. 

He clasped his gold, and t/i'ed. 

George W. Cutter. 

ARTEMUS WARD AT THE TOMB OF 
SHAKESPEARE. 

(A droll reading.) 

I'VE been lingerin by the Tomb of the 
lamentid Shakespeare. 
It is a success. 
I do not hes'tate to pronounce it as such. 
You may make any use of this opinion that 
you see fit. If you think its publication will| 
subswerve the cause of litteratoor, you may| 
publicate. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



323 



I told my wife Betsey, when I left home, that 
I should go to the birth-place of the orthur of 
Otheller and other Plays. She said that as long 
as I kept out of Newgate she didn't care where 
1 went. ''But," I said, ''don't you know he 
was tne greatest Poit that ever lived ? Not one 
of these common poits, like that young idyit 
who writes verses to our daughter, about the 
Roses as groses, and the breezes as blowses — 
but a Boss poit — also a philosopher, also a man 
who knew a great deal about everything. ' ' 

Yes. I've been to Stratford onto the Avon, 
the Birth-place of Shakespeare. Mr. S. is now 
no more. He's been dead over over three hun- 
dred (300) years. The peple of his native 
town are justly proud of him. They cherish his 
mem'ry, and them as sell picturs of his birth- 
place, &c., make it prof 'tible cherishin it. 
Almost everybody buys a pictur to put into their 
Albiom. 

"And this," I said, as I stood in the old 
church-yard at Stratford, beside a Tombstone, 
"this marks the spot where lies William W. 
Shakespeare. Alars ! and this is the spot 
where — " 

"You've got the wrong grave," said a man, 
— a worthy villager: "Shakespeare is buried 
inside the church." 

" Oh," I said, '*a boy told me this was it." 
The boy larfed and put the shillin I'd given him 
into his left eye in a inglorious manner, and 
commenced moving backwards towards the 
street. 

I pursood and captered him, and, after talk- 
ing to him a spell in a sarkastic stile, I let him 
went. 

William Shakespeare was born in Stratford in 
1564. All the commentators, Shakesperian 
scholars, etsetry, are agreed on this, which is 
about the only thing they are agreed on in re- 
gard to him, except that his mantle hasn't fallen 
onto any poet or dramatist hard enough to hurt 
said poet or dramatist much. And there is no 
doubt if thes^ commentators and persons con- 
tinner investigate n Shakspeare's career, we shall 
not in doo time, know anything about it at all. 



When a mere lad little William attended the 
Grammar School, because, as he said, the Gram- 
mar School wouldn't attend him. This re- 
markable remark coming from one so young 
and inexperunced, set peple to thinkin there 
might be something in this lad. He subse- 
quently wrote Hamlet and George Barnwell. 
When his kind teacher went to London to accept 
a position in the offices of the Metropolitan 
Railway, little William was chosen by his fellow- 
pupils to deliver a farewell address. " Go on, 
sir, ' * he said, " in a glorious career. Be like a 
eagle, and soar, and the soarer you get the more 
we shall be gratified ! That's so. " 

Charles F. Browne. 

THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

And he buried him in a valley in the land of 
Moab over against Beth-poer ; but no man knoweth 
of his sepulchre unto this day, — Deut. xxxiv, 6. 

BY Nebo's lonely mountain. 
On this side Jordan's wave. 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 
There lies a lonely grave ; 
But no man dug that sepulchre. 

And no man saw it e'er. 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 
And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
But no man heard the tramping, 

Or saw the train go forth ; 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done. 
And the crimson streak on the ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun. — 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves. 
So, without sound of music. 

Or voice of them that wept. 
Silently down from the mountain crown 

The great procession swept. 



324 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay the sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place, 

With costly marble dressed, 
In the greater minster transept, 

Where lights like glories fall. 
And the choir smgs, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced, with his golden pen, 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor? 

The hill-side for his pall ; 
To lie in state while angels wait. 

With stars for tapers tall ; 
And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, 

Over his bier to wave ; 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave — 

In that deep grave, without a name, 

Whence his uncoflfined clay 
Shall break again — O wondrous thought ! 

Before the judgment-day ; 
And stand, with glory wrapped around. 

On the hills he never trod. 
And speak of the strife that won our life. 

With th' incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely tomb in Moab*s land ! 

O dark Beth-poer's hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours. 

And teach them to be still. • 
God hath His mysteries of grace, — 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him He loved so well. 

C. F. Alexander. 



TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN. 

( Humorous reading. ) 

WHEN they reached the depot, Mr. Mann 
and his wife gazed in unspeakable 
disappointment at the receding train, 
which was just pulling away from the bridge 
switch at the rate of a mile a minute. Their 
first impulse was to run after it, but as the train, 
was out of sight and whistling for Sagetown. 
before they could act upon the impulse, they/ 
remained in the carriage and disconsolately 
turned their horses' heads homeward. 

Mr. Mann broke the silence, very grimly : 
" It all comes of having to wait for a woman to 
get ready." 

** I was ready before you were, " replied his wife. 

*' Great heavens," cried Mr. Mann, with great 
impatience, nearly jerking the horses' jaws out 
of place, "just listen to that ! And I sat in the 
buggy ten minutes yelling at you to come along 
until the whole neighborhood heard me." 

'* Yes," acquiesced Mrs. Mann, with the pro- 
voking placidity which no one can assume but a 
woman, " and every time I started down stairs, 
you sent me back for something you had for- 
gotten. ' ' 

Mr. Mann groaned. '*This is too much to 
bear," he said, ''when everybody knows that if 
I were going to Europe I would just rush into 
the house, put on a clean shirt, grab up my grip- 
sack, and fly, while you would want at least six 
months for preliminary preparations, and then 
dawdle around the whole day of starting until 
every train had left town." 

Well, the upshot of the matter was that the 
Manns put off their visit to Aurora until the 
next week, and it was agreed that each one 
should get himself or herself ready and go down 
to the train and go, and the one who failed to 
get ready should be left. The day of the match 
came around in due time. The train was going 
at 10.30, and Mr. Mann, after attending to his 
business, went home at 9.45. 

"Now, then," he shouted, "only three- 
quarters of an hour's time. Fly around; a fair 
Held and no favors, you know. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



325 



And away they ilew. Mr. Mann bulged into 
this room and flew through that one, and dived 
into one closet after another with inconceivable 
rapidity, chuckling under his breath all the time 
to think how cheap Mrs, Mann would feel when 
he started off alone. He stopped on his way 
up-stairs to pull off his heavy boots to save 
time. For the same reason he pulled off his 
coat as he ran through the dining-room, and 
hung it on a corner of the silver-closet. Then 
he jerked off his vest as he rushed through the 
hall and tossed it on the hat-rack hook, and by 
the time he had reached his own room he was 
ready to plunge into his clean clothes. He 
pulled out a bureau -drawer and began to paw at 
the things like a Scotch terrier after a rat. 

*^ Eleanor," he shrieked, '^ where are my 
shirts?" 

''In your bureau-drawer," calmly replied 
Mrs. Mann, who was standing before a glass 
calmly and deliberately coaxing a refractory 
crimp into place. 

''Well, but they ain't," shouted Mr. Mann, 
a little annoyed. "I've emptied everything 
out of the drawer, and there isn't a thing in it 
I ever saw before." 

Mrs. Mann stepped back a few paces, held 
her head on one side, and after satisfying her- 
self that the crimp would do, replied : " These 
things scattered around on the floor are all mine. 
Probably you haven't been looking into your 
own drawer." 

"I don't see," testily observed Mr. Mann, 
"why you couldn't have put my things out 
for me when you had nothing else to do all 
the morning. ' ' 

"Because," said Mrs. Mann, setting herself 
into an additional article of raiment with awful 
deliberation, " nobody put mine out for me. A 
fair field and no favors, my dear. ' ' 

Mr. Mann plunged into his shirt like a bull at 
a red flag, 

"Foul! " he shouted in malicious triumph. 
" No buttons on the neck ! " 

"Because," said Mrs. Mann, sweetly, after a 
deliberate stare at the fidgeting, impatient man, 



during which she buttoned her dress and put 
eleven pins where they would do the most good, 
"because you have got the shirt on wrong siCe 
out." 

When Mr. Mann slid out of the shirt he began 
to sweat. He dropped the shirt three times 
before he got it on, and while it was over his 
head he heard the clock strike ten. When his 
head came through he saw Mrs. Mann coaxing 
the ends and bows of her necktie. 

" Where are my shirt-studs ? " he cried. 

Mrs. Mann went out into another room and 
presently came back with gloves and hat, and 
saw Mr. Mann emptying all the boxes he could 
find in and around the bureau. Then she said, 
" In the shirt you just pulled off." 

Mrs. Mann put on her gloves while Mr. Mann 
hunted up and down the room for his cuff- 
buttons. 

"Eleanor," he snarled at last, "I believe 
you must know where those cuff-buttons are." 

"I haven't seen them," said the lady settling 
her hat; "didn't you lay them down on the 
window-sill in the sitting-room last night ? ' ' 

Mr. Mann remembered, and he went down 
stairs on the run. He stepped on one of his 
boots and was immediately landed in the hall at 
the foot of the stairs with neatness and dispatch, 
attended in the transmission with more bumps 
than he could count with Webb's Adder, and 
landed with a bang like the Hell Gate explosion. 

"Are you nearly ready, Algernon?" sweetly 
asked the wife of his bosom, leaning over the 
banisters. 

The unhappy man groaned. "Can't you 
throw me down the other boot ? " he asked. 

Mrs. Mann piteously kicked it down to him. 

"My valise?" he inquired, as he tugged at 
the boot. 

' ' Up in your dressing-room, ' ' she answered. 

"Packed?" 

" I do not know ; unless you packed it your- 
self, probably not," she replied with her hand 
on the door-knob ; "I had barely time to pack 
my own." 

She was passing out of the gate when the 



326 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



door opened, and he shouted, ** Where in the 
name of goodness did you put my vest ? It has 
all my money in it." 

** You threw it on the hat-rack," she called. 
"Good-bye, dear." 

Before she got to the corner of the street she 
was hailed again : 

"Eleanor! Eleanor! Eleanor Mann! Did 
you wear off my coat ? ' ' 

She paused and turned, after signaling the 
street car to stop, and cried, " You threw it in 
the silver closet. ' ' 

The street car engulfed her graceful form and 
she was seen no more. But the neighbors say 
that they heard Mr. Mann charging up and 
down the house, rushing out of the front door 
every now and then, shrieking after the uncoiv- 
scious Mrs. Mann, to know where his hat was, 
and where she put the valise key, and if she 
had his clean socks and undershirts, and that 
there wasn't a linen collar in the house. And 
when he went away at last, he left the kitchen- 
door, the side-door and the front-door, all the 
down-stairs windows and the front-gate wide 
open. 

The loungers around the depot were somewhat 
amused, just as the train was pulling out of sight 
down in the yards, to see a flushed, enterprising 
man, with his hat on sideways, his vest unbut- 
toned and necktie flying, and his grip-sack flap- 
ping open and shut like a demented shutter on 
a March night, and a door-key in his hand, 
dash wildly across the platform and halt in the 
middle of the track, glaring in dejected, im- 
potent, wrathful mortification at the departing 
train, and shaking his fist at a pretty woman 
who was throwing kisses at him from the rear 
platform of the last car. 

WAS IT RIGHT? 

(To be spoken in a droll, meditative manner.) 

AGRE^AT many puzzling things come up 
in the course of daily life. Sometimes 
we are puzzled to know just whether it 
is right or not. Several things have puzzled mc 
lately, and I'll relate a few of the circumstances 



and ask you to help me determine as to the 
right or wrong of the cases. Foi instance : 

Weary Peddler walked up to the cashier of the 
National Bank of Sandville, and said: "Want 
any cockroach powder to-day, sir ? Warranted 
to kill flies, ants, bedbugs, cockroaches, gold- 
bugs, and all sich vermin ; price, only — ' ' 

Cashier (^to office boy^. "Johnny, telephone 
for a policeman \ this man is undoubtedly an 
anarchist. ' ' Was he right ? 



Again, someone asked in my hearing : 
"What caused the coldness between Mrs, 

Neuwoman and her companion-in-marriage ? ' ' 

Then the answer : 

"He said he was more of a man than she 

was. ' ' Now, was he right ? 



Then, again, the other day I asked a friend of 
mine whose mother-in-law had just taken up her 
quarters at his home : 

"Has your wife's mother come to live with 
you for good?^^ And he answered crabbedly : 

' ' Yes and no. ' ' Had he struck it right / ' ' 



A friend of mine thinks of going to Chicago. 
His mother objected. He said he could take 
care of himself in Chicago His mother asked 
him : 

* ' If you were in a large city without money, 
what would you do ?" 

^^ So7nebod}\'" he replied. 

She asked him how, and he said he Knew the 
art. That puzzled me. 



But, speaking of art reminos me of another 
circumstance over which I've thought a good deal. 

A rich old speculator imagined that he knew 
all about art, whereas he was an ignoramus in 
regard to everything, in fact, except in makings 
money. This old fraud determined to make a 
valuable present to his son-in-law, who was a 
preacher. 

It was suggested to him that an oil painting 
representing Daniel in the lion's den would 
be very appropriate, so an order was given 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



327 



to a painter to produce the work of art^ It was 
almost finished when the old speculator was 
called to inspect it. It represented a cross-sec- 
tion of the den with Daniel walking about 
among the lions. When the old man saw the 
picture he refused to take it. He insisted that 
if Daniel was in the den neither he nor the lions 
could be seen, and the artist had to cover the 
lions and Dan with a coat of black paint. 

When the son-in-law was presented with the 
picture he was somewhat dazed to know what it 
represented. 

''It represents Daniel in the lion's dep " re- 
plied the art critic. 

'' But I don't see either of them." 

''That makes no difference. They are in 
there. I saw 'em myself." 

That was rather an odd way to paint a picture. 
Was the old man right ? 



I was out in the country the other day visit- 
ing my Uncle Josh. If there is a man in the 
world that I dote on doing the very thing that's 
right and square it is my old Uncle Josh. But 
he did something that day which made me 
doubt whether or not his head was just exactly 
level. I'll tell it and see what you think of it. 
We were out in the field, and a tramp came 
along. 

"Please, sir," said the tramp, as he came 
along to where the farmer was blowing up 
stumps with dynamite, "are you willin' to give 
an unfortunit man a show ? ' ' 

' ' No, sir — no, sir — go on with you ! ' ' shouted 
Uncle Josh, in reply, 

" Are you not willin' to — " 

' ' No, sir — no, sir ! One of your sort of 
fellers cum along here the other day and wanted 
CO be blowed up with a stump, and it took me 
three hours to dig a grave and bury his mangled 
karcass. I try to be naburly and all that, 
but I—" 

' ' What I wanted was cold vittles, ' ' put in the 
tramp. 

Oh ! I see ! Waal, go to the house and tell 
the old woman to fill you up. I thought you 



wanted to be blowed up with this stump, and 
I'm durned if anybody works that trick on me 
agin ! Jest cold vittles, eh ? That's a different 
thing. ' ' 

Now, was Uncle Josh right? 

Arranged from Texas Siftings. 



T 



RESIGNATION. 

(Sunday-school or church occasion.) 

HERE is no flock, however watched and 
tended, 

But one dead lamb is there ! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended. 

But has one vacant chair ! 



The air is full of farewells to the dying 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 

W'\j be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death ! What seems so is transition : 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian. 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection. 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution. 

She lives whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air ; 
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. ^ 



328 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, though un- 
spoken, 

May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child : 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion. 

Clothed with celestial grace ; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though, at times, impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay ; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing 

The grief that must have way. 

Longfellow. 

THE NOBILITY OF LABOR. 

(Suited to Labor Day occasions.) 

I CALL upon those whom I address to stand 
up for the nobility of labor. It is Heaven's 
great ordinance for human improvement. 
Let not that great ordinance be broken down. 
What do I say ? It is broken down ; and it has 
been broken down for ages. Let it, then, be 
built up again ; here, if anywhere, on these shores 
of a new world — of a new civilization. But how, 
I may be asked, is it broken down? Do not 
men toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed, 
toil ; but they too, generally do it because they 
must. Many submit to it as, in some sort, a 
degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing so 
much on earth as escape from it. They fulfill 
the great law of labor in the letter, but break it 
in the spirit ; fulfill it with the muscle, but break 
it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental 
or manual, every idler should fasten, as a chosen 



and coveted theatre of improvement. But so is 
he not impelled to do, under the teachings of 
our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he 
sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in 
his idleness. This way of thinking is the herit- 
age of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under 
which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent thcii 
lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that this 
opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to 
toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy dingy workshop 
and dusty labor-field ; of thy hard hands, scarred 
with service more honorable than that of war ; of 
thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which 
Mother Nature has embroidered, 'midst sun and 
rain, 'midst fire and steam, her own heraldic 
honors ? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, 
and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile 
idleness and vanity ? It is treason to Nature — it 
is impiety to Heaven — it is breaking Heaven's 
great ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either 
of the brain, or of the heart, or of the hand, is 
the only true manhood, the only true nobility ! 
Rev. Orville Dewey. 

HANS AND FRITZ. 

HANS and Fritz were two Deutschers who 
lived side by side, 
Remote from the world, its deceit and 
its pride : 
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments 

were spent. 
And the fruits of their labor were peace and 
content. 

Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day. 
And, lacking a part of the Geld^ — as they say, — 
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan 
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend. 
And gave the required amount to his friend ; 
Remarking- — his own simple language to quote — 
'* Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note." 

The note was drawn up in their primitive way, — 
' ' I Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day ; ' ' 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



329 



When the question arose, the note being made, 
** Vicn von holds dot baper until it vas baid ? " 

** You geeps dot," says Fritz, " und den you vill 

know 
You owes me dot money." Says Hans, ** Dot 

ish so : 
Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, 
Und I prings you der note und der money some 

day." 

A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed, 
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was 

freed. 
Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us. ' ' Hans replies, 

" Yaw : 
Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ? ' ' 

"I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz; 

' ' den you see, 
I alvays remempers you paid dot to me. ' ' 
Says Hans, ^*Dot ish so : it was now shust so 

blain. 
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again." 
Charles F. Adams. 



J 



JOHN AND TIBBIE DAVISON'S 
DISPUTE, 

(Scotch dialect. Humorous.) 

OHN DAVISON and Tibbie, his wife, 

Sat toasting their taes ae nicht 
When something startit in the fluir, 

And blinkit by their sicht. 



**Guidwife," quoth John, ''did ye see that 
moose ? 
Whar sorra was the cat ? ' ' 
"A moose?" ''Aye, a moose." " Na, na, 
guidman. 
It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat." 

Ow, ow, guidwife, to think ye've been 
Sae lang aboot the hoose, 
An' no to ken a moose frae a rat ! 
Yon was'na a rat ! 'twas a moose. " 

''I've seen mair mice than you, guidman — 
An' what think ye o' that ? 



Sae hand your tongue an' say nae mair — 
I tell ye, it was a rat. ' ' 

Me hand my tongue for you, guidwife ! 

I'll be mester o' this hoose — 
I saw't as plain as een could see't, 

An' I tell ye, it was a moose ! " 

" If you're the mester o' the hoose 

It's I'm the mistress o't ; 
An' /ken best what's in the hoose, 

Sae I tell ye it was a rat. " 

" Weel, weel, guidwife, gae mak' the brose. 

An' ca' it what ye please." 
So up she rose and made the brose, 

While John sat toasting his taes. 

They supit, and supit, and supit the bros^^ 

And aye their lips played smack ; 
They supit, and supit, and supit the brose, 

Till their lugs began to crack. 

"Sic fules we were to fa' oot guidwife, 

Aboot a moose — ' ' ' 'A what ? 
It's a lee ye tell, an' I say it again. 

It was'na a moose, 'twas a rat ! " 

" Wad ye ca' me a leear to my very facet 

" My faith, but ye craw croose ! 
I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear't — • 

'Twas a moose ! " " 'Twas a rat ! " " 'Twas 
a moose ! ' ' 

Wi' her spoon she strack him ower the pow — 

" Ye dour auld doit, tak' that ; 
Gae to your bed, ye canker' d sumph — 

'Twas a rat ! 'Twas a moose ! 'Twas a rat ! " 

See sent the brose caup at his heels, 

As he hirpled ben the hoose ; 
Yet she shoved oot his head as he streekit the 
door, 

Aud cried, ' ' ' Twas a moose ! ' twas a moose ! " 

But when the carle was fast asleep 

She paid him back for that. 
And roared into his sleeping lug, 

" 'Twas a rat ! 'twas a rat ! 'twas a rat I 



330 



MISCEI,LANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



The de'il be wi' me if I think 

It was a beast ava !- — 
Neist mornin', as she sweepit the fluii. 

She faund wee Johnnie's ba' ! 

Robert Leighton. 

JENKINS GOES TO A PICNIC. 

(Humorous.) 

MARIA ANN recently determined to go to 
a picnic. 

Maria Ann is my wife — unfortunately 
fihe had planned it to go alone, so far as I am 
concerned, on that picnic excursion ; but when 
I heard about it, I determined to assist. 

She pretended she was very glad; I dc't 
believe she was. 

" It will do you good to get away from your 
y^'ork a day, poor fellow," she said; **and we 
jhall so much enjoy a cool morning ride on the 
cars, and a dinner in the woods." 

On the morning of that day, Maria Ann got 
up at five o'clock. About three minutes later 
she disturbed my slumbers, and told me to come 
to breakfast. I told her I wasn't hungry, but it 
didn't make a bit of difference, I had to get up. 
The sun was up ; I had no i ^ea that the sun 
began his business so early in iche morning, but 
there he was. 

"Now," said Maria Ann, '* we must fly 
around, for the cars start at half-past six. Eat 
all the breakfast you can, for you won't get any- 
thing more before noon." 

I could not eat anything so early in the morn- 
ing. There was ice to be pounded to go around 
the pail of ice cream, and the sandwiches to be 
cut, and I thought I would never get the legs of 
the chicken fixed so I could get the cover on the 
big basket. Maria Ann flew around and piled 
up groceries for me to pack, giving directions to 
the girl about taking care of the house, and 
putting on her dress all at once. There is a 
deal of energy in that woman, perhaps a trifle 
too much. 

At twenty minutes past six I stood on the front 
steps, with a basket on one arm and Maria Ann's 
waterproof on the other, and a pail in each hand. 



and a bottle of vinegar in my coat -skirt pocket 
There was a camp-chair hung on me somewhere, 
too, but I forget just where. 

*'Now," said Maria Ann, ** we must run or 
we shall not catch the train." 

"Maria Ann," said I, " that is a reasonable 
idea. How do you suppose I can run with all 
this freight ? ' ' 

"You must, you brute. You always try to 
tease me. If you don't want a scene on the 
street, you will start, too." 

So I ran. 

I had one comfort, at least. Maria Ann fell 
down and broke her parasol. She called me a 
brute again because I laughed. She drove me all 
the way to the depot at a brisk trot, and we got 
on the cars; but neither of us could g^t a seat, 
and I could not find a place where I could set 
the things down, so I stood there and held them. 

"Maria," I said, "'how is this for a cool 
morning ride ? ' ' 

Said she, * * You are a brute, Jenkins. ' ' 

Said I, "You have made that observation 
before, my love." 

I kept my courage up, yet I knew there would 
be an hour of wrath when we got home. While 
we were getting out of the cars, the bottle in my 
coat-pocket broke, and consequently I had one 
boot half-full of vinegar all day. That kept me 
pretty quiet, and Maria Ann ran off with a big 
whiskered music -teacher, and lost her fan, and 
got her feet wet, and tore her dress, and enjoyed 
herself so much, after the fashion of picnic goers. 

I thought it would never come dinner-time, 
and Maria Ann called me a pig because I wanted 
to open our basket before the rest of the baskets 
were opened. 

At last dinner came — the * ' nice dinner in the 
woods, ' ' you know. Over three thousand little 
red ants had got into our dinner, and they were 
worse to pick out than fish-bones. The ice cream 
had melted, and there was no vinegar for t!he 
cold meat, except what was in my boot, and, 
of course, that was of no immediate use. The 
music-teacher spilled a cup of hot coffee on 
Maria Ann's head, and pulled all the frizzles out 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



331 



irying to wipe off the coffee with his handker- 
chief. Then I sat on a piece of raspberry -pie, 
ind spoiled my white pants, and concluded I 
iidn't want anything more. I had to stand up 
against a tree the rest of the afternoon. The day 
offered considerable variety, compared to every- 
day life, but there were so many drawbacks that I 
did not enjoy it so much as I might '"ave done. 

THE TEXAS COW. 

(Droll humor.) 

THE *' pure dairy milk" which the Texas 
milkman ladles out to his customers has 
a suspicious resemblance in color and 
thinness to the cholera infantum producing 
liquid which the New York milkman circulates 
among the public. 

For this reason a good many people in the 
towns and cities of Texas prefer to keep a cow. 
The Texas cow is, physically speaking, a com- 
bination of the Queen Anne and Swiss cottage 
styles of architecture. She seems to be made up 
of numerous angles, lean rib-roasts and emaciated 
soup bones attached to a wide-spreading set of 
horns ; but, nevertheless, she supplies a fluid that 
contains the elements of a bona fide milk. 

After the concierge of a Texas cow has 
wrenched from her all the milk he needs, he lets 
down the bars of the pen and permits her to go 
into the boulevard for the night, relying on her 
maternal instinct to bring her home next morning. 

The cow waits until gentlemen are returning 
from the various lodges, and then, selecting a 
conveniently dark place in the dimly lighted 
street, she unlimbers her legs and sinks into the 
arms of Morpheus. She always selects a place 
there people can .«'*-nmble over her without going 
)ut of their way. 

The man who stumbles over a cow, couchant, 
can be readily recognized in a crowd a week after- 
wards, provided he is able to be out on crutches. 
The Texas cow couchant has been known to 
take a wheelbarrow aside and give it points. 
The man who stumbles over a Texas cow in the 
dark cannot gloat over the man who falls down 
stairs with a cooking stove in his arms. 



At first, when he unconsciously festoons her 
neck with his legs, and she begins to rise to 
to receive company, he imagines some cataclysm 
of nature has broken loose. He is as much sur- 
prised as the lightning was when it struck a 
magazine containing a few tons of powder. 

Then he begins to fall off. Like the Gospel, 
he is spread more or less all over the earth. He 
eventually puts his ear to the ground to hear 
something drop, and he not only hears it, but 
feels it for weeks afterwards. No two men's 
experiences are exactly alike. Some hit the 
planet with all the force of a stepmother's arm. 
Some plow up the ground with their noses as if 
propelled by some mysterious motor. 

After there has been a steady falling off of the 
inhabitants for an hour or so, the cow proceeds 
to crowd her stomach with valuable shrubs and 
costly tropical plants that grow in the gardens of 
the elite. 

How does she get into the gardens ? I hear 
someone ask. Leave her alone for that. She 
gets in by hook or by crook, but usually by hook. 
She hooks the gate, already weakened by lovers 
leaning upon it in the twilight, off its hinges. 

But she is sure to get in. It would not keep 
her out if admission were charged. If she 
couldn't get in any other way she would steal 
the materials and build a step-ladder. 

Texas Siftings, 

JIM SMILEY'S FROG. 

(Humorous reading.) 
"T "TELL, this yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, 
y^^ and chicken-cocks, and all them kind 
of things, till you couldn't rest, and 
you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on 
but he'd match you. He ketched a frog 
one day, and took him home, and said he 
cal'klated to edercate him ; and so he never 
done nothing for three months but set in his back 
yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet 
he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little 
punch behind, and the next minute you'd see 
that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut. — • 
see him turn one summerset, or maybe a couple. 



332 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed 
and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in 
ttie matter of catching flies, and kept him in 
practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every 
time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all 
a frog wanted was education, and he could do 
most anything ; and I believe him. Why, I've 
seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this 
floor, — Dan'l Webster was the name of the 
^rog, — and sing out, *' Flies, Dan'l, flies," and 
quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight 
up, and snake a fly off' n the counter there, and 
flop down on the floor again, as solid as a gob of 
mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head 
with his hind foot as indiflerent as if he hadn't no 
idea he'd been doing any more'n any frog might 
do. You never see a frog so modest and straight- 
for'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And 
when it came to fair and square jumping on a 
dead level, he could get over more ground at 
one straddle than any animal of his breed you 
ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his 
strong suit, you understand ; and when it come 
to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as 
long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous 
proud of his frog, and well he might be, for 
fellers that had travelled and been everywheres, 
all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. 

Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice 
box, and he used to fetch him down town some- 
times, and lay for a bet. One day a fellar, — a 
stranger in the camp, he was, — came across him 
with his box, and says : 

"What might it be that you've got in the 
box?" 

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent liice, ^* It 
might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may- 
be, but it ain't, — it's only just a frog." 

And the fellar took it, and looked at it care- 
ful, and turned it round this way and that, and 
says, " H'm ! so 'tis. Well, what's Jie good 
for?" 

**Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's 
good enough for one thing, I should judge, — he 
can outjump any frog in Calaveras county." 

The feller took the box again^ and took an- 



other long particular look, and gave it back to 
Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well, I 
don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any 
better' n any other frog." 

"Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "May- 
be you understand frogs, and maybe you don't 
understand 'em ; maybe you've had experience^ 
and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. 
Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll risk 
forty dollars that he can outjump ary frog in 
Calaveras country." 

And the feller studied a minute, and then 
says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only a stranger 
here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had a 
frog, I'd bet you." 

And then Smiley says, "That's all right, — 
that's all right ; if you'll hold my box a minute, 
I'll go and get you a frog." An(f so the feller 
took the box, and put up his forty dollars along 
with Smiley' s, and set down to wait. So he set 
there a good while, thinking and thinking to 
to hisself, and then he got the frog out and 
prized his mouth open, and took a teaspoon and 
filled him full of quail shot, — filled him pretty 
near up to his chin, — and set him on the floor. 
Smiley he went to the swamp, and slopped 
around in the mud for a long time, and finally 
he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give 
him to this feller, and says : 

" Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of 
Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l, 
and I'll give the word." Then he says, " One 
— two — three — jump ; " and him and the feller 
tonched up the frogs from behind, and the new 
frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and 
hysted up his shoulders, — so, — like a French- 
man, but it wan't no use, — he couldn't budge ; 
he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he 
couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored 
out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he 
was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea 
what the matter was, of course. 

The feller took the money and started away ; 
and when he was going out at the door, he 
sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders, — 
this way, — at Dan'l, and says again, very delib- 



MISCELLANEuJS SELECTIONS. 



33;i 



erate, **Well, / don't see no p'ints about that 
frog that's any better' n any other frog." 
Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking 
down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, 
''I do wonder what in the nation that frog 
throwed off for ; I wonder if there ain't some- 
thing the matter with him, he 'pears to look 
mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched 
Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him 
up, and says, "Why, blame my cats, if he don't 
weigh five pound ! ' ' and turned him upside 
down, and he belched out a double handful of 
shot. And then he see how it was, and he was 
the maddest man. He set the frog down, and 
took out after that feller, but he never ketched 
him. Mark Twain. 

THE PIPE. 

(Parody on **The Bells." This piece may be 
made more interesting if a gentleman in smoking- 
jacket and slippers recite it, sitting or standing be- 
fore an open grate, holding in his hand a pipe, from 
which he occasionally takes a " whifif," and turns it 
about in different positions as he soliloquizes. ) 

OH, I love the merry gurgle of my pipe. 
Brier pipe ; 
When the flavor of the weed within is ripe ; 
What a lullaby it purls. 
As the smoke around me curls, 
Mounting slowly higher, higher, 
As I dream before the fire, 

With a flavor in my mouth. 
Like a zephyr from the South, 
And my favorite tobacco 
By my side — 
Near my side, 
With the soothing necromancy 
Sweetly linking fact to fancy, 
In a golden memory-chain 
To the gurgle, sweet refain, 
Of my pipe, brier pipe. 
To the fancy-breeding gurgle of my pipe. 

Oh, what subtle satisfaction in my pipe, 

Brier pipe ; 
Nothing mundane can impart 
Such contentment to my heart j 



She's my idol, she's my queen. 

Is my lady Nicotine ; 
When in trouble how 1 yearn 
For the incense which I burn 

At her shrine. 

How I pine 
For the fragrance of her breath ; 
Robbed of terror e'en is death 

By her harmless hypnotism ; 

Healed is every mortal schism. 
Foe and friend 
Sweetly blend 

At the burning of the brier ; 

Greed, cupidity, desire 
Fade away within the smoke, 
In the fragrant, fleecy smoke 

From my pipe, magic pipe. 

From my glowing, peace-bestowing, gurg 
gling pipe. Philadelphia Times. 



D 



SAY! 

O you think that a metaphysician, 

With a long psychological plan, 
Could induce microscopical eflbrt. 

In an anthropological man ? 
Could a flat phrenological failure, 

With a physiological chill. 
Love a sociological expert 

With a meteorological thrill ? 
Could an archaeological sprinter 

Of a dark theological hue 
Give a nice philosophical treatise 

On the eyes of my Nellie so blue ? 

Could a methodological blockhead 

Having craniological feet 
Paint a dry neurological picture 

Of a wet geological street ? 
Could a smooth astrological fakir 

With a teleological brain 
Give a palaeological hoodoo 

In a long euchological strain? 
Do you think ethnological records, 

Astronomical worlds, will embue 
With correct biographical statements 

As to why Nellie's eyes are so blue ? 
L. I. Melroy, in Chicago Record, 



.534 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



PYGMALION AND GALATEA. 

Characters. 

Pygmauon, an Athenian sculptor. 

Galatea, a statue. 

Costumes. — Gentleman, in the habit oj a 

Greek artist. Lady, /// statuesque drapery or 

ordinary Greek costume. 

(A noted Greek sculptor, Pygmalion, makes a most 
beautiful statute of woman. Having attained per- 
fection of form he longs to breathe life into his work, 
and blames the gods that they have limited his 
power. He stands on the stage, to the left, looking 
thoughtfully up as if imploring the gods. While ap- 

f)arently uttering his complaints, Galatea, coming to 
ife, calls to him from behind the curtain. ) 

Galatea (^from behind curtain^ C*). Pyg- 
malion ! 

Pygmalion {after a pause'). Who called? 

Gal. Pygmalion ! 

(Pygmalion tears away curtain and discovers 
Galatea alive. ) 

Pyg. Ye gods ! It lives ! 

Gal. Pygmalion . 

Pyg. It speaks ! 

I have my prayer ! my Galatea breathes ! 

Gal. Where am I ? Let me speak, Pygmalion ; 
Give me thy hand — both hands — how soft and 

warm ! 
Whence came I ? (^Descends. ) 

Pyg. Why, from yonder pedestal. 

Gal. That pedestal ! Ah, yes, I recollect. 
There was a time when it was part of me. 

Pyg . That time has passed forever, thou art now 
A living, breathing woman, excellent 
In every attribute of womankind. 

Gal. Where am I, then ? 

Pyg. Why, born into the world 

By miracle. 

Gal. Is this the world ? 

Pyg. It is. 

Gal. This xouin ? 

Pyg. This room is a portion of a house ; 

The house stands in a grove ; the grove itself 
Is one of many, many hundred groves 
In Athens. 

Gal. And is Athens, then, the world ? 

Pyg. To an Athenian — yes — 

• C indicates centre ; /!., right, and L., left of stage. 



Gal. And I am one? 

Pyg. By birth and parentage, not by descent 

Gal. But how came I to be ? 

Pyg. Well, let me see 

Oh ! you were quarried in Pentelicus ; 
I modelled you in clay ; my artisans 
Then roughed you out in marble ; I, in turn, 
Brought my artistic skill to bear on you. 
And made you what you are, in all but life. 
The gods completed what I had begun. 
And gave the only gift I could not giv 

Gal. Then this is life ? 

Pyg. It is. 

Gal. And not long since 

I was a cold, dull stone. I recollect 
That by some means I knew that I was stone. 
That was the first dull gleam of consciousness ; 
I became conscious of a chilly self, 
A cold immovable identity. 
I knew that I was stone, and knew no more ; 
Then by an imperceptible advance, 
Came the dim evidence of outer things, 
Seen, darkly and imperfectly, yet seen ; 
The walls surrounded me, and I alone. 
That pedestal — that curtain — then a voice 
That called on Galatea ! At that word, 
Which seemed to shake my marble to the core. 
That which was dim before, came evident. 
Sounds that had hummed around me, indistinct, 
Vague, meaningless — seemed to resolve them- 
selves 
Into a language I could understand ; 
I felt my frame pervaded with a glow 
That seemed to thaw my marble into flesh ; 
Its cold, hard substance throbbed with active life. 
My limbs grew supple, and I moved— I lived ! 
Lived in the ecstasy of new born life ; 
Lived in the love of him that fashioned me ; 
Lived in a thousand tangled thoughts of hope. 
Love, gratitude, thoughts that resolved them- 
selves 
Into one word, that word, Pygmalion ! 

{Kneels to him.) 

Pyg. I have no words to tell thee of my joy, 
O woman — perfect in thy loveliness. 

Gal. What is that word? Am I a woman ? 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Pyg. Yesi 

Gal. Art thou a woman ? 

Pyg. No, I am a man ! 

Gal. What is a man ? 

Pyg. A being strongly framed, 

To wait on woman, and protect her from 
All ills that strength and courage can avert ; 
To work and toil for her, that she may rest ; 
To weep and mourn for her, that she may laugh ; 
To fight and die for her, that she may live ! 

Gal. {^after a pause'). I'm glad I am a woman. 
( Takes his hand — he leads her down^ L. ) 

Pyg. So am I. ( They sit. ) 

Gal. That I escape the pains thou hast to bear? 

Pyg. That I may undergo those pains for thee. 

Gal. With whom wouldst thou fight ? 

Pyg. With any man 

Whose word or deed gave Galatea pain. 

Gal. Then there are other men in this strange 
world ? 

Pyg. There are, indeed ? 

Gal. And other women ? 

Pyg. {taken aback). Yes; 

Though for the moment I'd forgotten it ! 
Yes, other women. 

Gal. And for all of these 

Men work, and toil, and mourn, and weep, and 
fight ? 

Pyg. It is man's duty, if he's called upon. 
To fight for all — he works for those he loves. 

Gal. Then by thy works I know thou lovest me? 

Pyg. Indeed, I love thee. {Embraces her. ) 

Gal. What kind of love ? 

Pyg. I love thee {recollecting himself and re- 
leasing her) as a sculptor loves his work ! 

{Aside. ) There is diplomacy in that reply. 

Gal. My love is different in kind to thine : 
I am no sculptor, and I've done no work. 
Yet I do love thee ; say — what love is mine ? 

Pyg. Tell me its symptoms, then I'll answer 
thee. 

Gal. Its symptons ? Let me call them as they 
come. 
A sense that I am made by thee for thee. 
That I've no will that is not wholly thine. 
That I've no thought, no hope, no enterprise, 



That does not own thee as its sovereign ; 
That I have life that I may live for thee, 
That I am thine — that thou and I are one ! 
What kind of love is that ? 

Pyg. A kind of love 

That I shall run some risk in dealing with. 

Gal. And why, Pygmalion ? 

Pyg. Such love as thine 

A man may not receive, except, indeed, 
From one who is, or is to be, his wife. 

Gal. Then I will be thy wife. 

Pyg. That may not be ; 

I have a wife — the gods allow but one. 

GaL Why did the gods then send me here to 
thee? 

Pyg. I cannot say — unless to punish me 

{Rises. ) 
For unreflecting and presumptuous prayer ! 
I pray'd that thou shouldst live. I have my 

prayer. 
And now I see the fearful consequence 
That must attend it ! 

GaL Yet thou lovest me ? {Rises. ) 

Pyg. Who could look on that face and stifle 
love ? 

Gal. Then I am beautiful ? 

Pyg. Indeed thou art. 

Gal. I wish that I coilld look upon myself. 
But that's impossible. 

Pyg. Not so, indeed, {Crosses, R.) 

This mirror will reflect thy face. Behold ! 

{Hands her a mirror from table, R. C. ) 

Gal. How beautiful ! I am very glad to know 
That both our tastes agree so perfectly ; 
Why, my Pygmalion, I did not think 
That aught could be more beautiful than thou. 
Till I behold myself. Believe me, love, 
I could look in this mirror all day long. 
So I'm a woman. 

Pyg. There's no doubt of that ! 

Gal. Oh ! happy maid, to be so passing fair ! 
And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze 
At will upon so beautiful a face ! 

Pyg. Hush ! Galatea — in_ thine innocence 

( Taking glass from her. ) 
Thou say est things that others would reprove. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Gal. Indeed, Pygmalion : then it is wrong 
To think that one is exquisitely fair ? 

Pyg. Well, Galatea, it's a sentiment 
That every other woman shares with thee ; 
They think it — but they keep it to themselvv '. 

Gal. And is thy wife as beautiful as I ? 

Pyg. No, Galatea \ for in forming thee 
I took her features — lovely in themselves— 
And in marble made them lovelier still. 

Gal. {^disappointed'). Oh! then I am not orig- 
inal ? 

Pyg. Well— no— 

That is, thou hast indeed a prototype, 
But though in stone thou didst resiemble her. 
In life, the difference is manifesL 

Gal. I'm very glad that I am lovelier than she. 
And am I better ? (Sils, Z.) 

Pyg. That I do not know. 

Gal. Then she has faults. 

Pyg. Very few, indeed ; 

Mere trivial blemishes, that serve to show 
That she and I are of one common kin. 
I love her all the better for such faults. 

Gal. {after a pause). Tell me some faults and 
I'll commit them now. 

Pyg. There is no hurry ; they will come in 
time : {Sits beside her, L. ) 

Though for that matter, it's a grievous sin 
To sit as lovingly as we sit now. 

Gal. Is sin so pleasant ? If to sit and talk 
As we are sitting, be indeed a sin, 
Why I could sin all day. But tell me, love. 
Is this great fault that I'm committing now. 
The kind of fault that only serves to show 
That thou and I are of one common kin ? 

Pyg. Indeed, I am very much afraid it is. 

Gal. And dost thou love me better for such 
fault ? 

Pyg. Where is the mortal that could answer 
*'no?" 

Gal. Why then I'm satisfied, Pygmalion; 
Thy wife and I can start on equal terms 
She loves thee? 

Pyg. Very much. 

Gal. I'm glad of that. 

I like thy wife. 



Pyg. And why ? 

Gal. {surprised at the question). Our tastes 
agree 
We love Pygmalion well, and what is more, 
Pygmalion loves us both. I like thy wife ; 
I'm sure we shall agree. 

Pyg. {aside). I doubt it much. 

Gal. Is she within ? 

Pyg. No, she is not within. 

Gal. But she'll come back ? 

Pyg. Oh ! yes, she will come back. 

Gal. How pleased she'll be to knc w when she 
returns. 
That there was someone here to fill her place. 

Pyg. {dryly). Yes, I should say she'd be ex- 
tremely pleased. {Rises.) 

Gal. Why, there is something in thy voice 
which says 
That thou art jesting. Is it possible 
To say one thing and mean another ? 

Pyg. Yes, 

It's sometimes done. 

Gal. How very wonderful ! 

So clever ! 

Pyg. And so very useful. 

Gal. Yes. 

Teach me the art. 

Pyg. The art will come in time. 

My wife will not be pleased ; there — that's the 
truth. 

Gal, I do not think that I shall like thy wife. 
Tell me more of her. 

Pyg. Well— 

Gal What did she say 

When she last left thee ? 

Pyg. Humph ! Well, let me see : 

Oh ! true, she gave thee to me as my wife — 
Her solitary representative ; 
( Tenderly) She feared I should be lonely till she 

she came. 
And counselled me, if thoughts of love should 

come. 
To speak those thoughts to thee, Js I am wont 
To speak to her. 

Gal. That's right. 

Pyg. {releasing her). But when she spoxe 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



337 



Thou wast a stone, now thou art flesh and blood, 
Which makes a difference. 

Gal. It's a strange world ; 

A woman loves her husband very much, 
And cannot brook that I should love him too ; 
She fears he will be lonely till she comes. 
And will not let me cheer his loneliness : 
She bids him breathe his love to senseless stone, 
^Lnd when that stone is brought to life — be dumb! 
It's a strange world, I cannot fathom it. 

(^Crosses, R.') 

Pyg. (^aside). Let me be brave, and put an 
end to this. 

{Aloud.) Come, Galatea — till my wife returns. 
My sister shall provide thee with a home ; 
Her house is close at hand. 

Gal. {astonished and alarmed). Send me not 
hence, 
Pygmalion — let me stay. 

Pyg. It may not be. 

Come, Galatea, we shall meet again. 

Gal. {resignedly). Do with me as thou wilt, 
Pygmalion ! 
But we shall meet again ? — and very soon ? 

Pyg. Yes, very soon. 

Gal. And when thy wife returns. 

She'll let me stay with thee ? 

Pyg. I do not know. 

{Aside.) Why should I hide the truth from 
her? 

{Aloud. ) Alas ! 
I may not see thee then. 

Gal. Pygmalion 

What fearful words are these ? 



^yi 



The bitter truth. 



I may not love thee ; I must send thee hence. 

Gal. Recall those words, Pygmalion, my love ! 
Was it for this that Heaven gave me life ? 
Pygmalion, have mercy on me ; see 
I am thy work, thou hast created me ; ' 
The gods have sent me to thee. I am thine. 
Thine ! only and unalterably thine ! {Music. ) 
This is the thought with which my soul is 

charged. 
Thou tellest me of one who claims thy love. 
That thou hast love for her alone ! Alas ! 
22 



I do not know these things ; I only know 
That Heaven has sent me here to be with thee. 
Thou tellest me of duty to thy wife, 
Of vows that thou wilt love but her; alas ! 
I do not know these things ; I only know 
That Heaven, who sent me here, has given me 
One all-absorbing duty to discharge — 
To love thee, and to make thee love again ! 

{During this speech Pygfnalion has shown 
symptoms of irresolution ; at its conclusion he 
takes her in his arms and embraces hef passion- 
ately.) W. S. Gilbert. 

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

(A dialogue for two men. From Act IV. o^ Julius 
Ccesar. Before rendering the dialogue it is presumed 
that the participants will read the whole play from a 
volume of Shakespeare, and familiarize themselves 
with the spirit of the selection. The interest will be 
enhanced by the use of proper costumes. Where 
these cannot be hired — as they generally may in 
cities and large towns — they may be easily impro- 
vised by observing the simple Roman dress as illus- 
trated in historical works. ) 

( Curtain rises, revealing Brutus and Cassius in 
heated conversation on the stage. ) 
Cassius. That you have wronged me doth 
appear in this ; 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of Sardinians ; 
Wherein my letters (praying on his side 
Because I knew the man) were slighted of. 
Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in 

such a case. 
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear its com- 
ment. 
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold. 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speak this. 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last ! 
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this cor- 
ruption. 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 
Cas. Chastisement ! 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Bru. Remember March, the ides of March 
remember ! 
Did not great JuHus bleed for justice' sake? 
What villain touched his body, that did stabj 
And not for justice ? — What ! shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers, — shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman ! 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ! 
I'll not endure it. You forget yourself 
To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ! you're not Cassius! 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself : 
Have mind upon your health: tempt me no.fur- 
ther! 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is't possible? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 

Cas. Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? Ay, more ! Fret till your 
proud heart break ! 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor? 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, — yea, for my la^^h- 

ter,— 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this? 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier , 
I^t it appear .so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall j)lcase me well. For mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 



Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong 
me, Brutus : 
I said an elder soldier, not a better. 
Did I say better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus 
have moved me. 

Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have 
tempted him. 

Cas. I durst not? 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What ! durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my lov&. 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry 
for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty. 
That they pass by me as the idle wind. 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied 

me; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
I had rather coin my heart. 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions ; 
Which you denied me. Was that done, like 

Cassius ? 
Should I "nave answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. Brutus hath 

rived my heart, 
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities ; 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like youv faults. 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



330 



Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, 
come ! 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius ; 
For Cassius is a- weary of the world- 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
"jet in a note-book, learned and conned by rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from my eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ; 
If that thou be' St a Roman, take it forth : 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike as thou didst at Csesar ; for I know. 
When thou didst hate him. worse, thou lovedst 

him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope : 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O, Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb. 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered 
too. 

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me 
your hand. 

Bru. And my heart, too. — 

Cas. O, Brutus ! 

Bru. What's the matter? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to oeai with 
me, 

When that rash humor which my mother gav^me 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Brzi. Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
[curtain.] Shakespeare. 



TABLEAU. — Friendship Restored. 
Curtain riseSy revealing Brutus and Cassius 
with one hand laid upon the other* s shoulder^ 
while the right hands firmly clasp. On the face 
of each beai^is the light of noble love and manly 
friendship, showing their mutual joy. The bear- 
ing should be dignified and manly. 

SCENE BETWEEN HAMLET AND 
THE QUEEN. 

( Dialogue for elderly lady and young man. From 
Act III. of the tragedy of Hamlet. The part of 
Hami<ET is a very difficult one to play, and should 
be thoroughly studied. The whole tragedy should 
be read from Shakespeare, any illustrated volume of 
which will suggest appropriate costume. The Ghost 
may be impersonated by a voice, unless a suitable 
costume and staging are available. ) 

( Curtain rises and reveals Hamlet approach- 
ing his Mother, who may be seated and appar- 
ently in much distress. ) 

Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter ? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 

offended. 
Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much 

offended. 
Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 

tongue. 
Hamlet. Go, go, you question with a wicked 

tongue. 
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
Hamlet. What's the matter now? 
Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
Hamlet. No, by the rood, not so. 
You are the queen, your husband's brother's 

wife ; 
And — would it were not so — you are my mother. 
Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you that 

can speak. 
Hamlet. Come, come, and sit you down j 

you shall not budge : 
You go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not 

murther me ? 
Help, help, ho ! 

Polonius {behind'). What, ho ! help, help, help ! 



340 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Hamlet (^drawing.) How now! a rat? Dead, 
for a ducat, dead ! 

(^Makes a pass through the arras.') 
Polonius {behind). O, I am slain ! 

(^Falls and dies. ) 
Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 
Hamlet. Nay, I know not ; 
Is it the king ? 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is 

this! 
Hamlet. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good 
mother. 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
Queen. As kill a king ! 
Hamlet. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 

(^Lifts tip the arras and discovers Polonius. ) 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
I took thee for thy better : 
Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit you 

doAvn, 
And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff. 
If damned custom have not braz'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest 
wag thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Hamlet. Such an act 
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage-vows 
As false as dicers' oaths ; O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth glow. 
Yea, this sondity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen ^ Ay me, what act. 
That roars so loud and thunders in the index r 
Hamlet. Look here, upon this picture, and on 
this. 
The counterfeit presentment of two ^lOthers. 
See what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself; 



An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 

A station like the herald Mercury 

New lighted on a heaven -kissing hill; 

A combination and a form indeed. 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

To give the world assurance of a man. 

This was your husband. Look you now, what 

follows : 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew' d ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor? Ha 1 have you eyes? 
You cannot call it love, for at your age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment ; and what judg- 
ment 
Would step from this to this ? 
O shame ! where is thy blush ? 

Queen, O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
Thou turns' t mine eyes into my very soul, 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct. 
O, speak to me no more; 
These words like daggers enter in mine ears : 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Hamlet. A murtherer and a villain ; 
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket I 

Queen. No more ! 

Ha7nlet. A king of shreds and patches, — 

(^Enter Ghost.) 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! — What would your gra- 
cious figure? 

Queen. Alas ! he's mad ! 

Hanilet. Do you not come your tardy son to 
chide. 
That, laps' d in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread command ? 
O, say I 

Ghost. Do not forget. This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



341 



O, step between her and her fighting soul * 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Hamlet. How is it with you, lady? 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you. 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? 

O gentle son, 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look ? 

Hamlet. On him, on him ! Look you, how 
pale he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin' d, preaching to 

stones, 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon 

me; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 
My stern effects ; then what I have to do 
Will want true color ; tears perchance for blood. 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 

Hamlet. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 

Hamlet. Nor did you nothing hear ? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Hamlet. Wh}', look you there ! look, how it 
steals away ! 
My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the por- 
tal. {Exit Ghost. ) 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain ; 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Hamlet. Ecstasy ! 
My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
And makes as healthful music : it is not iiiadness 
That I have utter' d ; bring me to the test, 
And I the matter will re-word, which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass but my madness speaks ; 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come. 

Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart 
in twain. 

HdLmkt, Of throw away the worser part of it, 



And live the purer with the other half, 
y For this same lord, {Pointing to Polonius. ) 

I do repent ; 

I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him, — So, again, good-night. 
I must be cruel, only to be kind ; 
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. 

[curtain.] Shakespeare. 

LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

(This piece is frequently recited by one person, 
but is much more effective in dialogue. Lochiei., a 
Highland chieftain, while on his march to jointlie 
Pretender, is met by one of the Highland seers, or 
prophets, who warns him to return, and not incur 
the certain ruin and disaster which await the unfor- 
tunate prince and his followers on the field of Cullo- 
den. When used as a dialogue, a blast of trumpet is 
heard. The curtain being drawn, LocHiEiy enters, 
attired in the Highland fighting costume, and follow- 
ing him should appear in the doorway of the stage 
two or three armed Scotch soldiers to give the idea 
of a large number behind them. The SEER meets 
him from the other direction, dressed in flowing 
robes, and with long white hair and beard, and, 
raising his hands in the attitude of warning, speaks 
imploringly as follows : ) 

Seei'. 

LOCHIEL, Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in 
battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in flight : 
They rally, they bleed, for their country and 

crown, — 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down I 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the 

plain. 
But, hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of 

war. 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the 

gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ! 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
O ! weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead ! 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave — 
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! 



342 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Lochiel. 
Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight. 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! 

Seer. 

Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be 

torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth. 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the 

North? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he 

rode 
Companionles3, bearing destruction abroad : 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of 

Heaven. 
O, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height. 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it 

stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing 

brood ! r 7 • r 

Lochiel. 

False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshall'd my clan : 
Thei r swords are a thousand ; the! r bosoms are one : 
They are true to the last of their blood, and 

their breath, 
And like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the 

shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the 

rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
All plaidcd, and plum'd in their tartan array — 



Seer. 
Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal. 
Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
'Tis the snnset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden 's dread echoes shall ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive 

king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath. 
Behold where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from 

my sight : 
Rise ! Rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his 

flight ! 
'Tis finish'd. — Their thunders are hush'd on the 

moors ; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ! Where? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish' d, for- 
lorn, 
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and 

torn? 
Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the 

bier ; 
His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs. 
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accurs'd be the fagots that blaze at his feet. 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to 

beat. 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 

Lochiel. 
Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonor---so foul with retreat. 
Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in 

their gore. 
Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beater 

shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains, 
AVhile the kindUng of life in his bosom remain?, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



:]43 



Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the 

foe! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of 

fame. Campbell, 

[curtain.] 

TABLEAU. 

A very pretty tableau may be quickly jformed 
behind the curtain, and at the close of applause 
from the audience the curtain be raised, showing 
LoCHiEL standing proud and imperious, his clan 
gathered ai'ound him, and the old Seer upon his 
knees, head thrown back, with hands and face 
raised implori 



MARY STUART, QUEEN OF 
SCOTLAND. 

(Adapted from Schiller, Scene II. , Act III. Arranged 
for two ladies and two gentleman. 

Characters : 
Mary, Queen of Scotla.nd. 
Elizabeth, Queen of England. 
Robert, Earl of Leicester. 
Talbot, a friend of Mary. 
Costumes. — Elizabethan age of England and 
Scotland. 
Enter Mary aftd Talbot. 
Mary. Talbot, Elizabeth will soon b*? licre. 
I cannot see her. Preserve me from thi? hateful 
interview. 

Talbot. Reflect a while. Recall thy courage. 
The moment is come upon which everything 
depends. Incline thyself; submit to the neces- 
sity of the moment. She is the stronger. 
Thou must bend before her. 
Mary. Before her ? I cannot ! 
Tal. Thou must do so. Speak to her humbly ; 
invoke the greatness of her generous heart ; 
dwell not too much upon thy rights. But see 
first how she bears herself towards thee. I my- 
self did witness her emotion on reading thy 
letter. The tears' stood in her eyes. Her heart, 
'tis sure, is not a stranger to compassion ; there- 
fore place more confidence in her, and prepare 
Myself for her reception, 



Mary. (^Taking his hand.) Thou wert ever 
my faithful friend. Oh, that I had always re- 
mained beneath thy kind guardianship, Talbot ! 
Their care of me has indeed been harsh. Who 
attends her? 

Tal. Leicester. You need not fear him ; the 
earl doth not seek thy fall. Behold, the queen 
approaches. (^Retires.) 

Enter Elizabeth and Leicester. 

Mary. (^Aside. ) O heavens ! Protect me ! 
her features say she has no heart ! 

Elizabeth. (^To Leicester.) Who is this 
woman? (^Feigning surprise.') Robert, who 
has dared to — 

Lei. Be not angry, queen, and since heaven 
has hither directed thee, suffer pity to triumph 
in thy noble heart. 

Tal. (^Advancing. ) Deign, royal lady, to cast 
a look of compassion on the unhappy woman 
who prostrates herself at thy feet. 

[Mary, having attempted to approach Elizabeth, 

stops short, overcome by repugnance, her gestures 

indicating internal struggle. '\ 

Eliz. (^Haughtily.) Sirs, which of you spoke 
of humility and submission ? I see nothing but 
a proud lady, whom misfortune has not succeeded 
in subduing. 

Mary. {Aside. ) I will undergo even this last 
degree of ignominy. My soul discards its noble 
but, alas ! impotent pride. I will seek to forget 
who I am, what I have suffered, and will humble 
myself before her who has caused my disgrace. 
( Turns to Elizebeth. ) Heaven, O sister, has 
declared itself on thy side, and has graced thy 
happy head with the crown of victory. (^Kneel- 
ing. ) I worship the Deity who hath rendered 
thee so powerful. Show thyself noble in thy 
triumph, and leave me not overwhelmed by 
shame ! Open thy arms, extend in mercy to me 
thy royal hand, and raise me from my fearful fall. 

Eliz. (^Drawing back. ) Thy place, Stuart, is 
there, and I shall ever raise my hands in grati- 
tude to heaven that it has not willed that I 
should kneel at thy feet, as thon now crouchest 
in the dust at mine- 



;U4 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Mary. ( With great emotion. ) Think of the 
vicissitudes of all things human ! There is a 
Deity above who punisheth pride. Respect the 
Providence who now doth ptostrate me at thy 
feet. Do not show thyself insensible and piti- 
less as the rock, to which the drowning man, 
^•. ith failing breath and outstretched arms, doth 
iiiig. My life, my entire destiny, depend upon 
my words and the power of my tears. Inspire 
my heart, teach me to move, to touch thine own. 
Thou turnest such icy looks upon me, that my 
soul doth sink within me, my grief parches my 
lips, and a cold shudder renders my entreaties 
mute. {Rises.) 

Eliz. ( Coldly. ) What wouldst thou say to me ? 
thou didst seek converse with me. Forgetting 
that I am an outraged sovereign, I honor thee 
with my royal presence. 'Tis in obedience to 
a generous impulse that I incur the reproach of 
having sacrificed my dignity. 

Mary. How can I express myself? how shall 
I so choose every word that it may penetrate, 
without irritating, thy heart? God of mercy! 
aid my lips, and banish from them whatever may 
offend my sister ! I cannot relate to thee my 
woes without appearing to accuse thee, and this 
is not my wish. Towards me thou hast been 
neither merciful nor just. I am thine equal, 
and yet thou hast made me a prisoner, a sup- 
pliant, and a fugitive. I turned to thee for aid, 
and thou, trampling on the rights of nations and 
of hospitality, hast immured me in a living tomb ! 
Thou hast abandoned me to the most shameful 
need, and finally exposed me to the ignominy of 
a trial ! But, no more of the past ; we are now 
face to face. Display the goodness of thy heart ! 
tell me the crimes of which I am accused ! 
Wherefore didst thou not grant me this friendly 
audience when 1 so eagerly desired it ? Years 
of misery would have been spared me, and this 
painful interview would not have occurred in 
this abode of gloom and horror. 

Eliz. Accuse not fate, but thine own wayward 
soul and the unreasonable ambition of thy house. 
There was no quarrel between us until thy most 
worthy ally inspired thee with the mad and rash 



desire to claim for thyself the royal titles and 
my throne ! Not satisfied with this, he then 
urged thee to make war against me, to threaten 
my crown and my life. Amidst the peace which 
reigned in my dominions, he fraudulently excited 
my subjects to revolt. But heaven doth protect 
me, and the attempt was abandoned in despair. 
The blow was aimed at my head, but 'tis on 
thine that it will fall. 

Mary. I am in the hand of my God, but thou 
wilt not exceed thy power by committing a deed 
so atrocious ? 

Eliz. What could prevent me ? Thy kinsman 
has shown monarchs how to make peace with 
their enemies ! Who would be surety for thee 
if, imprudently, I were to release thee? How 
can I rely on thy pledged faith ? Nought but 
my power renders me secure. No ! there can be 
no friendship with a race of vipers. 

Mary. Are these thy dark suspicions? To 
thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a stranger 
and an enemy. If thou hadst but recognized 
me as heiress to thy throne — as is my lawful 
right — love, friendship, would have made me thy 
friend — thy sister. 

Eliz. What affection hast thou that is not 
feigned ? I declare thee heiress to my throne ! 
Insidious treachery ! In order, forsooth, to 
overturn the state, and — wily Armida that thou 
art — entrap within thy snares all the youthful 
spirits of my kingdom, so that during my own 
lifetime all eyes would turn towards thee — the 
new constellation ! 

Mary. Reign on in peace ! I ^enounce all 
right to thy sceptre. The wings of my ambi- 
tion have long drooped, and greatness has no 
longer charms for me. 'Tis thou who hast it all ; 
I am now only the shade of Mary Stuart ! My 
pristine ardor has been subdued by the ignominy 
of my chains. Thou hast nipped my existence 
in the bud. But pronounce those m.agnanimous 
words for which thou cam'st hither ; for I will 
not believe that thou art come to enjoy the base 
delight of insulting thy victim ! Pronounce the 
words so longed for, and say, ''*Mary, thou art 
free ! Till now thou hast known only my power ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



now know my greatness. ' ' Woe to thee, shouldst 
thou not depart from me propitious, beneficent, 
like an invoked Deity. O sister ! not for all 
England, not for all the lands the vast ocean 
embraces, would I present myself to thee with 
the inexorable aspect with which thou now re- 
gardest me ! 

Eiiz. At length thou confessest thyself van- 
'^uished ! Hast thou emptied thy quiver of the 
artifices it contained ? Hast thou no more as- 
sassins? Does there not remain to thee one 
single hero to undertake in thy defence the 
duties of knight-errant? Gone, Mary, gone 
forever are those days. Thou canst no longer 
seduce a follower of mine; other causes now 
inflame men's hearts. In vain didst thou seek a 
fourth husband among my English subjects; 
they knew too well that thou murderest thy 
husbands, as thou dost thy lovers. 

Ma7y. (^Shuddering. ^ O heavens! sister! 
Grant me resignation. 

Eliz. {^To Leicester, with contempt.') Earl, 
are these the boasted features, on which no mortal 
eye could gaze with safety? Is this the beauty to 
which no other woman's could be compared ? In 
sooth, the reputation appears to have been easily 
won. To be thus celebrated as the reigning beauty 
ot the universe seems merely to infer that she has 
been universal in the distribution of her favors. 

Mary. Ah, 'tis too much. 

Eliz. ( With a smile of satisfaction. ) Now thou 
showest thyself in thine own form. Till now 
thou hast worn a mask. 

Mary. ( With dignified pride. ) They were 
mere human errors that overcame my youth. 
My grandeur dazzled me. I have nought to 
conceal, nor deny my faults ; my pride has ever 
disdained the base artifices of vile intriguers. 
The worst I ever did is known, and I may boast 
myself far better than my reputation. But woe 
to thee, thou malignant hypocrite,' if thou ever 
lettest fall the mantle beneath which thou con- 



cealest thy shameless amours \ Thou, the 
daughter of Anne Boleyn, hast not inherited 
virtue ! The causes that brought thy sinful 
mother to the block are known to all. 

Tal. (^Stepping between them.') Is this, O Mary, 
thine endurance ? Is this thy humility ? 

Mary. Endurance? I have endured all that 
a mortal heart can bear. Hence, abject humil- 
ity ! Insulted patience, get ye from my heart ! 
And thou, my long pent-up indignation, break 
thy bonds, and burst forth from thy lair ! Oh, 
thou gavest to the angry serpent his deadly 
glance ; arm my tongue with poisonous stings. 

Tal. (^To Elizabeth^) Forgive the angry 
transports which thou hast thyself provoked. 

Lei. (^Inducing Elizabeth" t^ withdraw.) 
Hear not the ravings ol a distracted \i^oman. 
Leave this ill — 

Mary. The throne of England is profaned by 
a base-born — the British nation is duped by a 
vile pretender ! If right did prevail, thou wouldst 
be grovelling at my feet, for 'tis I who am thy 
sovereign. (Elizabeth retires. Leicester and 
Talbot follow.) She departs, burning witn 
rage, and with bitterness of death at heart. 
Now happy I am ! I have degraded her in 
Leicester's presence. At last ! at last ! After 
long years of insult and contumely, I have at 
least enjoyed a season of triumph. {Sinks tipon 
the floor.) [curtain.] Schiller. 

TAB LEA U. 
Curtain rises. Mary reclines upon the floor ^ 
disheveled hair, face buried in ha?ids, shaking 
with emotion. Elizabeth stands glaring at her, 
face livid with anger, clenched flsts. Leicester 
is restraining her ; his hand is raised as ifad?non- 
ishing her not to yield to her rage ajtd do an act 
unbecoming a queen. Talbot leans over Mary, 
to whom he appears to offer words of hope and 
consolation, at the same tijne lifting his right hand 
imploringly to Elizabeth. 



346 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



M DEBATE. 

Question: "Are the Mental Capacities of the 
Sexes Equal?" 

(A debate arranged for seventeen male speakers, 
followed by a lady. There should be seats for 
all those who are to take part in the debate, the 
Chairman being distinguished from the others by 
being more elevated in his position, and having a 
table or desk before him. Should there not be 
room on the stage for all the debaters, some can 
'it grouped on the floor adjoining. Every speaker 
6 he rises should try to catch the eye of the Chair- 
jan, and the latter should check every tendency 
.o confusion by rapping on the table, and calling 
gentlemen to order. To give an air of spontaneous- 
ness to the debate, several speakers may at times 
rise at once, crying "Mr. Chairman." The Chair- 
"^an should be courteous and attentive to all, but 
prompt in his decisions, and energetic in maintain- 
ing them. Occasional applause, or indications of 
dissent, are allowable.) 

The CJiairman. Gentlemen : I feel very highly 
the honor you have done me by placing me in 
the chair. I will not waste your time, however, 
by inflicting a speech upon you, but will proceed 
at once to the proper business of the meeting. 
The question we are to discuss is as follows {reads 
from a roll of paper) : *'Are the mental capaci- 
ties of the sexes equal ? " I beg to call upon the 
Opener to commence the debate. I have only to 
add that I hope the discussion will be carried on 
in a manner befitting the importance and grav- 
ity of the subject. ( The Chairman resumes his 
seat aynid 'applause, and the Opener rises. ) 

The Opener. Sir, in rising to open the ques- 
tion which has been put from the chair, I assure 
you that I feel the need of much indulgence, 
and I hope that I shall not be denied it. I 
expect no small amount of reproach and con'tu- 
mely for the part I mean to take in this debate ; 
for I know the gallantry of many of my friends 
around me, and I fully make up my mind to 
smart under the weight of it. However, I will 
meet my fate boldly, at all events; I will de- 
clare, at once, that I am a believer in the men- 
tal inferiority of the ladies. {''Of O !'' met 
by cries of * ' Hear / hear .^ " ) And, If ray 
clamorous friends will let me, I will endeavor 
"o prove that I am right. I will take my proofs 
bm history. Which shines the brighter, the 
male sex or the female? Look among sovcr- 
Sgns — Where is the female Cicsar? — the female [ 



Alfred? — the female Alexander? — the fema' d 
Napoleon ? Or take legislators — What woma n 
have we to compare with Solon or Lycurgus: ' 
with Washington or Hamilton? Or take che 
glorious list of orators. Can you point to 9 
female Demos' the-nes, or Mirabeau, or Cnatham 
or Patrick Henry, or Webster ? No, sir ! Tht 
ladies may have the gift of the — 1 beg pardon- ^ \ 
the gift of loquacity, but not of eloquence. 
Where are the female philosophers, moreovei f 
Where is their Soc'ra-tes, their Plato, their New- 
ton, their Jonathan Edwards? W^here is their 
great discoverer — their Columbus, their Frank- 
lin, their Herschel, their Daguerre? Where 
their great inventor — their Fulton, their Morse, 
their Whitney, their Edison? In literature, too, 
are the great names those of the fairer or the 
sterner sex? Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, 
Wordsworth, Campbell, Irving, Dickens — what 
lady writers equal these ? {Applause. ) 

I shall not enter into the philosophical part 
of the question at all. Facts are the strongest 
arguments, and these I have produced. Besides, 
I dare say that some of my supporters will 
choose that view of the matter, and into -^heir 
hands I am quite willing to resign it. 

I feel that I should weaken my cause were I 
to say tnore. I therefore commit the question 
to your fair and full discussion, quite convinced 
that a just conclusion will at length be arrived 
at. {Applause. ) 

Second Speaker. Sir, my friend, who nas just 
resumed his seat, has regarded this question ai 
it is answered by history : I will view it by the 
light of reason and philosophy. I think, then, 
that women are jnea?it to be inferior to men. 
The female of every kind of animal is weaker 
than the male, and why should a distinction be 
made with the human species ? ( " That's so. ' ' ), 

The sphere which the female is called upon - 
to fill is the domestic one. To rule and to 
command is the sphere of man. He is here to 
govern and to guide. Now, the exercise oi 
authority requires greater mental power than the 
duties of the other sex demand; and I think that 
man would not have been called upon to rule, 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



347 



A not greater power been conferred upon him. 

/here would be the unutterable delight that now 
?v^ells in the magic word ' * Home, ' ' if woman 

/fere more intellectually subtle than she is ? All 
these true joys would be lost to us ; and woman, 

nstead of earning our gratitude and ^.ffection by 
creating them, would be studying metaphysics, 
diving into theology, or searching out new stars. 
It seems to me that the very hap])iness of the 
world depends upon the inequalitie-s anxd differ- 
ences existing in the minds of the sexes, and 
therefore I shall vote with my friend, the 
Opener. (^Applause. ) 

Third Speaker. Sir, I rise to defend the ladies. 
(^Applause.) I admit the ability of my two 
frieAds who have preceded me ; but I dispute 
their arguments, and I utterly deny their con- 
clusions. I shall deal with the Opener only, and 
leave the other gentleman to the tender mercies 
of the succeeding speakers. 

Our friend referred us to history ; very unfor- 
tunately, I think. He spoke of rulers. Where 
is the female Caesar? said he, and the female 
Alexander? I am proud to reply — Nowhere. No, 
sir ; the fair sex can claim no such murderers, no 
such usurpers, no such enemies of mankind. But 
I will tell my friend what the fair sex can boast : 
can boast an Elizabeth, and also a Victoria. 
{^Loud applause. ) While the ladies can claim such 
rulers as these, their male detractors may keep 
their Caesars and Alexanders to themselves j and 
I, for one, shall never reclaim them from their 
keeping. (^Applause. ) I had more to say, sir, 
but I feel that other speakers would occupy your 
time more profitably, and so I will resume my seat. 
Fourth Speaker. Sir, the speaker who has just 
sat down was scarcely justified in calling his 
opponents '* detractors of the ladies ; " such an 
epithet is scarcely fair, and he would prove his 
point better, by using more moderate language. 
He has spoken of Elizabeth and Victoria, and I 
agree in his admiration of at least the latter of 
those distinguished characters ; but I would just 
remind him that history speaks of a Bloody Mary 
as well as an Elizabeth — of a Cleopatra as well 
as a Victorici. I am not determined, sir, upon 



which side I shall vote. I wait to be convinced ; 
and I assure my friends on both sides, that I am 
quite open to conviction. (^Applause.) 

Fifth Speaker. Then I, sir, will try to con- 
vince my friend. I will try to convince him 
that he should adopt the cause of the ladits 
The fair sex have not yet had justice done them. 
What is the argument employed to prove their 
inferiority? Simply this — that they are not 
such strong rulers, such learned law-givers, or 
such great poets. But suppose I grant this; the 
sexes may be mentally equal, notwithstanding. 
For, if I can show that the female sex possess 
qualities which the male sex do not, — qualities 
which, though widely different from those named, 
are quite as valuable to the world, — I establish 
an argument in their favor quite as strong as that 
against them. And I can prove this. In affec- 
tion, in constancy, in patience, in purity o( 
sentiment, and in piety of life, they as far surpass 
men as men surpass them in mere bodily strength. 
(^Applause. ) ' And what qualities are superior to 
these? Is strength of intellect superior to 
strength of heart ? Is the ability to make laws 
superior to the power that wins and keeps affec- 
tion ? Is a facility in making rhymes superior 
to sisterly love and maternal solicitude? 1 
think, sir, that it is unwise and unfair to judge 
between the two. The spheres of the sexes are 
different, and require different powers ; but, 
though different in degree, they may be, and 1 
believe they are, fully equal in amount. (^Loud 
applause. ) 

Sixth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, my speech shall 
consist of one question. Woman's brain is 
smaller ^■y^n man's : now, if, as philosophers tell 
u.^j the size of the brain is the evidence of intel- 
lectual power^ is not woman's intellect neces- 
sarily inferior to man's? {^^Hear.f hear J'' and 
laughter. ) 

Seventh Speaker, bir, my friend who has just 
sat down gave his speech in a question : I will 
give him another in reply. If the size of the 
brain is the proof of intellectual power, how is it 
that the calf is more stupid than the dog ? 
(^Laughter and applause. ) 



348 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



Eighth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, the last 
speaker's happy reply has saved me the neces- 
sity of answering the sagacious question of the 
gentleman who spoke before him. My friend, 
the opener of the debate, said, rather plausibly, 
that as the male sex can boast a Shakespeare, a 
Milton, and a Byron, and the other sex cannot, 
therefore the male sex must be superior. It is 
but a poor augument, sir, when plainly looked 
at. We should recollect that there is but one 
Shakespeare, but one Milton, but one Byron. 
Who can say that the female sex may not some 
day surpass these writers, famous though they be? 

Another gentleman spoke of philosophers. 
Let me remind him — for he seems to have for- 
getten, or not to know — that the female sex can 
produce a De Stael, a Somerville, and a George 
Elliott. Not that I would claim for the ladies, 
for one moment, any merit on this ground. I 
think that scientific and literary excellence is by 
no means the choicest laurel for their gathering. 
Learning does not sit so gracefully on the 
female as on the masculine brow : — a blue- 
stocking is proverbially disagreeable. We can 
tolerate the spectacle of a Newton or a Locke 
so immersed in study that he plays the sloven ; 
but the sight of a female — a lady -so abstracted 
as to play the — ( Cries of ' ' Order ! order ./" ) I 
say, sir, the sight of a lady so abstracted as to 
forget that her hair is in papers, her dress 
untidy, or her fingers inky, is simply repulsive. 
No amount of beauty will reconcile us to the 
absence of the feminine attribute of neatness. 
Woman's office, sir, is to teach the heart, not 
the mind ; and when she strives for intellectual 
superiority, she quits a higher throne than ever 
she can win. (^Applause. ) 

Ninth Speaker. Sir, the gentleman who called 
this a question of difference, not amount of intel- 
lect, jmt the (question, to my thinking, in its 
ij.oner light. I quite agree with the opener of 
tne debate, that in mere mental power, in .ncre 
clearness, force, and intensity of intellect, llic 
male sex is unquestionably superior to the female. 
Hut, at the same time, I can by no means admit 
that this proves woman to be inferior to the 



other sex. Much of what man has done results 
from his superior physical strength ; and, more- 
over, if man has done great things visibly and 
mentally, woman has accomplished great things 
morally and silently. In every stage of society 
she has kept alive the conscience, refined the 
manners, and improved the taste ; in barbarism 
and in civilization alike, she has gladdened the 
homes and purified the hearts of those she has 
gathered round her. Whilst, therefore, I admit 
that in mental strength woman is not, and can 
never be, equal to the other sex, I maintain that 
her superior morality makes the balance at least 
even. (^Applause.) ' 

Tenth Speaker. I am quite ready to concede, 
sir, with the last speaker, that in the private and 
domestic virtues the female sex is superior to the 
male : but I cannot go so far with him as to say 
that man is morally woman's inferior. For 
which are the highest moral virtues ? Courage, 
fortitude, endurance, perseverance ; and these, 
I think, man possesses far more prominently 
than woman. Let the field of battle test his 
courage : with what heroic boldness he faces 
certain death ! His fortitude again : what shocks 
he bears, what bereavements he patiently sus- 
tains ! Mark his endurance, too. Privation, 
hunger, cold, galling servitude, heavy labor, 
these he suffers oftentimes without a murmur. 
See also how he perseveres ! He sets some plan 
before him. Days, months, years, find it still 
distant, still unwon : he continues his exertions, 
and at last he gains the prize. These, sir, I 
contend, are amongst the highest moral virtues, 
and I think I have shown that the male sex pos- 
sesses them more abundantly than the other. 
(^Applause.') 

E/c2>enth Speaker. Sir, 1 (luite agree with the 
gentleman who spoke last, that courage, endur- 
ance, and fortitude, are amongst the highest 
moral virtues; but I do /wt agree with him when 
he says that the female sex possesses them in an 
inferior degree to the male. True, man shows 
his courage in the battle-field. ITc fares death, 
and meets it unshrinkingly. I'lit lias not woman 
courage quiet as great. She fights battles, — not 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



34'J 



a few : oftentimes with want, starvation, and 
ruin : and bravely indeed does she maintain her 
ground. Far more bravely than the man, in 
fact. The first shock overcomes him at once : 
when attacked by distress, he is in a moment 
laid prostrate. Then it is, sir, that woman's 
moral courage, endurance, and fortitude, shine 
out the most. She sustains, she cheers, she en- 
courages, she soothes the other ; nerves him by 
her example, invigorates him by her teni^erness, 
and directs him by gentle counsel and affection- 
ate encouragement, to put his shoulder to the 
wheel of his broken fortune, and restore himself 
to the position he has lost. 

* * O, woman ! in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, — 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel, thou ! " 

Sir, gentlemen have boasted of their Alex- 
anders and their Napoleons ; so has woman to 
match them her Joan of Arc. But I can point 
them to a spectacle which sends a warmer thrill 
to the heart than the contemplation of Alexander 
crossing the Gran'icus, or of Napoleon heading 
the impetuous onset across the bridge of Lodi. 
I behold a woman quitting the comforts of an 
affluent home in England, and standing by the 
bedside of wounded and plague-stricken soldiers 
in the hospitals of Constantinople. Sir, if that 
was not courage, it was something nobler, braver, 
more divine ; and the name of Florence Night- 
ingale — {interruption of loud applause') — the 
name of Florence Nightingale, I say, sir, is to 
my mind crowned with a halo more luminous 
and admirable than any false glare that surrounds 
the fame of any conqueror or man -slayer that 
ever spread desolation through a land. With 
J equal praise I might refer to her successor in our 
1 own land, Clara Barton, that heroic woman of 
the Red Cross. 

Sir, let me quote one other instance. When 
that illustrious French woman and true friend of 
liberty. Madam Ro-land^ in the bloody times of 
the French Revolution, for the crime of holding 
adverse political opinions, was dragged to the 
scaffold by — (Heaven save the mark !) — by men 



— alas, sir ! men — she, a pure, heroic, lovely, 
and innocent woman — there sat by her side 
in the victims' cart a man, a stranger, also a 
prisoner, and, like her, on his way to the guil- 
lotine. But, sir, the man wept bitterly with 
anguish and dismay ; while the woman was calm, 
composed, intrepid. She devoted her last 
moments to cheering and comforting her male 
companion. She even made him smile. She] 
seemed to forget her own great wrongs and suf- 
ferings in encouraging him. She saw his head 
fall under the guillotine, and then, stepping 
lightly up to the scaffold, she uttered those im- 
mortal words addressed to the statute of Lib- 
erty — '^ O ! Liberty, what crimes are committed 
in thy name!" — and told the executioner (the 
man, sir!) to do his duty. The next moment 
the fair head of this young, fearless, and highly- 
gifted woman was severed from the body, and 
men stood by to applaud the infernal act. Sir, 
let us hear no more, after this, of woman's in- 
feriority to man in fortitude, courage, endurance, 
and all that ennobles humanity. {^Applause.^ 

Twelfth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, I cannot help 
thinking that some of the last speakers have 
wandered a little from the true subject before 
us. The question was ''Are the Mental Capaci- 
ties of the Sexes Equal ? ' ' and the speakers 
are now hotly discussing whether the sexes are 
morally equal, with which point I submit ^e 
have nothing to do. To bring back the dis- 
cussion, therefore, to its proper track, I beg to 
repeat that which has been yet unanswered, 
namely. That as the male sex have produced the 
more remarkable evidences of mental power, the 
palm of mental superiority is evidently theirs. 
Much has been said during this debate, but no 
one has disproved this assertion, or denied the 
deduction from it : till cause is shown, there- 
fore, why the verdict should not be in favor of 
the male sex, I submit that we have the right to 
demand it. {Applause. ) 

Thirteenth Speaker. Sir, the last speaker has, 
in a taunting manner, challenged us to deny 
his assertion, and to disprove his argument. 
I will do both — ^at least, attempt to de so— and 



;i50 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



I trust I shall succeed in convincing my bold 
friend that he has not quite so good a cause as 
he thinks. (^Applause.) In the first place, sir, 
I will not admit that metiial superiority does not 
involve moral. It is my conviction that it does. 
1 maintain it, sir, there is something wanting in 
the intellectual mechanism of that man who, 
while he can write brilliant poetry, or discourse 
eloquently on philosophical subjects, is morally 
deficient and unsound. ^ 

But, I will not admit that the female sex is 
outdone by the male. True, the one sex has 
produced a Shakespeare, a Milton, and a Byron; 
but the other has a Sappho, a Barbauld, a 
Hemans, a Sigourney, and a George Elliott. 
I will not, however, pursue the intellectual 
comparison, for it would be an endless one. 
(^Applause.) But suppose I were to grant what 
the last speaker claimed, namely, that the female 
sex has achieved less than the male — what then ? 
I can show that woman's education has been 
neglected : if, then, woman has not possessed 
the advantages conferred upon the other sex, 
how can you say that she is not naturally man's 
equal ? Till this is answered, nothing has been 
proved. And, thanks to Heaven, our colleges 
are now giving her that chance which was for- 
merly denied her, and she is stepping bravely to 
the front in all great movements. She is writfng 
our books and teaching our schools, and soon she 
will be helping to make our laws. (^Applause. ^ 

Sir, as bearing upon this subject, and elo- 
quently embodying my own views, let me quote, 
if my memory will "^low me, a little poem by 
Ebenezer Elliott : 

"What highest prize hC'-ii woman won in science or 
in art? 
What mightiest work, by woman done, boasts city, 

field, or mart? 
•She hath no Raphael ! ' Painting saith ; ' No New- 
ton ! ' Learning cries ; 
' Show us her Steamship ! her Macbeth ! her thought- 
won victories ! ' 

" Wait, boastful man ! though worthy are thy deeds, 
when thou art true. 
Things worthier still, and holiex ^nr, our sister yet 
will do ; 



For this the worth of woman shows, on every peo- 

pled shore, — 
That still as man in wisdom grows, he honors her 

the more. 

" O ! not for wealth, or fame, or power, hath man's 

meek angel striven. 
But, silent as the growing flower, to make of earth 

a heaven ! 
And in her garden of the sun heaven's brightest] 

rose shall bloom ; 
For woman's best is unbegun! her advent yet to 

come ! " ( Vociferous applause. ) 

Fourteenth Speaker. Sir, I think that an 
answer may very easily be given to the objec- 
tions raised by the last speaker. Great stress 
has been laid upon the fact that education has 
not been extended to woman, ai»d therefore, it 
is said, she is not equal to man. The fact^ 
then, of her inferiority is admitted ; and now 
let us look at the excuse. I think it a very 
shallow one, sir. Was Shaicespeare educated? 
Was Bums educated ? Wi^ James Watt edu- 
cated ? Was Benjamin Franklin educated ? 
Was Henry Clay educated > No ! They achieved 
their greatness in spite of the disadvantages of 
their position ; and this, air, genius will always 
do. Nothing can keep it down ; it is superior 
to all human obstacles, and will mount. It is 
for want of genius, therefore, not for want of 
education, that woman has remained behind in 
the mental race. (^Applause. ) 

Fifteenth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, in spite 
of, the learned and eloquent speeches of the 
ladies' champions, I am still inclined to vote 
with the Opener. I think my conclusion rests 
on good authority. We find, from Scripture 
history, that man was created first, and that 
woman was formed from a part of man — from a 
rib, in fact. Now, I would humbly submit, 
that as man was first formed, he was intended to 
be superior to woman ; and that woman, being 
made from a part of man only, cannot be 
looked upon as his equal. We find, too, in 
Scripture, that woman is constantly told to obey 
man ; and I contend that this would not be the j 
case, were she not inferior. (Applause.^ I 

Besides, sir, as it has been ably argued, he* 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



351 



duties do not require such great intellect as 
rnan's. J'low, nature never gives unnecessary 
strength ; and as woman is not called upon to 
use great mental power, we mav be sure she does 
not possess it. 

Sixtee7ith Speaker. Sir, it seems to me that 
the remarks of the last speaker may be easily 
shown to be most inconclusive and inconsistent. 
In the first place, he says, that as Ad/jm was 
created before Eve, Adam was intende;i to be 
superior. I think, sir, that this argument is 
singularly unhappy. Why, we read that the 
birds, beasts, and fishes, were created before 
Adam 3 and, if my friend's logic were sound, 
Adam must have been inferior to the said birds, 
beasts, and fishes, in consequence : an argu- 
ment, as I take it, not quite supported by fact. 
(^Laughter and applause. ) Sir, so far as we can 
judge, the most important creatues seem to have 
been formed last, and therefore Eve must, 
according to that, be not inferior, but superior, 
to Adam. Then, as to the argument about the 
rib. Whyj what was Adam formed out of? 
The dust of the earth. Now, it seems to me 
that a living rib is a much more dignified thing 
to be made out of than the lifeless dust of the 
ground : and if so, my friend's argument turns 
against himself rather than against the ladies. 

I heard the gentleman say, too — and I confess 
I heard it with some impatience — that woman's 
sphere does not require so much intellect as 
man's. Where he got such an argument, I can- 
not imagine ; and I think it by no means credit- 
able either to his taste or to his discernment. 
Who has to rear the infant mind? to tend and 
instruct the growing child? to teach it truth, 
and goodness, and piety ? Not impetuous, im- 
patient man, but enduring, gentle, and con- 
siderate woman. What more important or more 
difficult task could mortal undertake ? It requires 
the noblest intellect to teach a child, and that 
intellect being required in woman, I fea sure 
that she possesses it. Although, then, I own 
that there are great and inborn differences 
between the intellectual capacities of the sexes, 
I cannot for an instant imagine that the one is, 



in the aggregate, at all imekwi to the other. 
(^Loud applause. — A pause ensues. ) 

The Chairman rises and says : If no other 
gentleman is inclined to speak, I will put the 
question. 

Sixteenth Speaker. Perhaps our worthy Chair- 
man would like to offer a few observations. 

( The Chairman then temporarily vacates the 
chair, calling one of the members to the same. ) 

Chairman. Gentlemen, the subject has inter- 
ested me so much, that I will act on my friend's 
suggestion, and venture upon a few remarks. I 
have reflected calmly and dispassionately upon 
the question before us, whilst I have been listen- 
ing to the speeches made by my friends around 
me; and although I own that I was at first 
inclined to vote in the affirmative of this ques- 
tion, I am not ashamed to say that my views 
have undergone a material alteration during the 
debate, and that I have now made up my mind 
to defend and vote for the ladies. (^Applause. ) 

In the first place, I think we are necessarily 
unfair judges ; we are interested in the verdict, 
and therefore ought not to sit upon the judg- 
ment seat. It gratifies our pride to think that 
we are superior to the other sex ; and reflection 
upon this point has convinced me, that upon 
the ground of good taste and modesty alone, 
we ought at once to give up the point, and 
admit woman's claims to be at least equal to 
our own. 

Reason also moves me to adopt the same con- 
clusion. I concede, at once, that there are 
great differences between the capacities of the 
sexes; but not greater than between various, 
races of our own sex. The roving savage is 
inferior to the studious philosopher. Why? 
Because he has not been educated. So with 
woman. When you can show me that woman 
has received the same advantages as man, and 
has not then equaled him, why, then I will vote 
against her; \ivX not till then. {^Applause.') 

In conclusion, I would say, that as the 
Creator formed woman to be a help meet for 
man, I cannot believe that she was made 
inferior. She was given to him as a companion 






352 



MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS. 



and friend, not as a slave and servant ; and I 
think that we are displaying great arrogance and 
presumption, as well as a contemptuous depre- 
ciation of the Creator's best gifts, if we declare 
and decide that she who adorns and beautifies 
and delights our existence is inferior to our- 
selves in that intelligence which became a part 
of man's soul when God breathed into him the 
breath of li fe ! ( Loud and continued applause. ) 

(^The Chair\la.n resufnes his seafy a fid then 
says ;) 

Will the opener of this debate ha^'^ the good- 
ness to reply ? 

The Opener (^in reply'). Mr. Chairman, — You 
have called on me to reply. Now, I beg at 
once, and frankly, to say, that I, like you, have 
undergone conviction during this debate, and 
that I mean to vote against the proposition 
which a short time ago I recommended. (^Loud 
cries of ^^ Hear / hear / ' ' and applause. ) 

I was misled by appearances. I looked into 
history ; but I did not examine it correctly. I 
looked at the surface only. I saw great deeds, 
and I saw that 7?ien had performed them ; but I 
did not estimate what had been done silently. 

I am not sorry, however, that I introduced 
the question. It has changed those who were 
wrong, it has confirmed those who were right, 
and it has caused all to think. Let. me hope 
that all who spoke on my side of the question 
are, like their leader, converted ; and let me, 
in conclusion, say, that I trust we shall take to 
our hearts the truth we adopt ; and whilst we 
vote here that the mental capacity of the female 
sex is equal to our own, show, by our conduct 
toward that sex, that we feel their high value 
and dignity, and treat them in every respect as 
our full ecjuals and as our best friends^ (^En- 
thusiastic applause. ) 

The Chairman. Those who think that the 
Mental Capacities of the Sexes are equal will 
please to signify the same in the usual manner. 
{Loud cries of ''All! all/*') I am happy to 
see, gentlemen, that we are all of one way of 
thinking : there is no need for me to put the 
other side of the question. I do declare it. 



then, decided by this meeting, that the ^lv.ntai 
Capacities of the Sexes are equal. 

A Lady {rising in the audience). Mr. Chair 
man, with your kind permission I should be 
pleased to offer a few words on this interesting 
occasion. 

Chairman. If the gentleman of the society 
have no objection — 

All. Let us hear from the lady. {Applause 
as she walks upon the stage. ) 

Lady. Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen : I have 
arisen to express my appreciation, — with that ol 
all the ladies in this audience, — of the verdict 
you have so unanimously reached. Until this 
occasion I believe no body of men ever agreed 
in such a decision. {Applause. ) 

Imagine, then, our delight at last — after six 
thousand years of waiting — ^at last, by the magic 
wand of your eloquence, we have the precious 
boon of equality restored to us. {Applause. ) 

But seriously, Mr. Chairman, the great exam 
pies cited are convincing and inspiring. There 
was no man who could save France when Joan 
of Arc led her hosts to victory. The wisdom of 
Queen Elizabeth and Victoria, the heroism of 
Florence Nightingale and Clara Barton, the 
philosophy and wit of de Stael, the literature of 
George Eliott, the persuasive eloquence of Fran- 
ces Willard — who has been offered ^-^^rtv thous- 
and dollars per annum to lecture — anow the ^ 
versatility and strength of the female mind, 
and what woman can do when she has the 
opportunity When equal privileges are ac- 
corded her by the world, then, and not till • 
then, will war and crime disappear and the 
great march of civilization, embodying edu- \ 
cation, temperance, morality, religion, and all ■(> 
the ennobling and elevating arts and sciences 
move with a dignity and beneficence which the '\ 
world has never seen. I thank you, Mr. Chair- ,^ 
man and gentlemen, for the courtesy extended, ^ 
and suggest that Avhen you have another debate, ^ 
especially on a question of such vital importance, 
that you invite some of your now exalted sisters 
to take part in the discussion. {Sits downy amic 
great applause. ) 



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